Identity
by SharpAsFlint
Summary: Locals tell of the mystery of the Yeti. The monster that would leave the darkness of its cave on the summit of Everest to maim and torture mankind. The deaths on the mountainside were ruled as unexplained by authorities. There were no reports of kidnapped children, so why does the face of Argost's most loyal assailant bear a striking resemblance to Drew Saturday's deceased father?
1. infantile

_"Dear child, won't you stop your incessant bawling? You do know that I have no tolerance for weakness."_

 _The light had long since left him. In his head, it had been forever gone. Darkness replacing its forgotten predecessor of joy and laughter. Something that he scoured his mind to remember. To hold. There was no light on the outside, either, causing the present absence of all colour - spare the black. The child found the hollow, desolate chambers barely palatable as they stood usually, bathed in sparse, red, artificial light, always rank with the odour of hopelessness and despair. The room was entirely bathed in charcoal. The room itself was empty, devoid of any outline from a furnishing but he would always bump into something. A wall. The floor. A fist. A blind boy, stumbling around on harsh, calloused hands and knees._

 _There wasn't more to need - the static in his tired eyes created moving figures and shapes against the walls. In the blackness, he would fear that he had gone permanently blind until the light would find him again and touch his skin and soothe him and bind him in a momentary sense of relief. The room became like a void, and he only knew he wasn't drifting eternally through nothingness because he could reach out and touch the cold, solid walls with his tiny, feeble hands. The tiny hands that he would grasp and hold himself with when he would bring his knees as close to his chest as they would come and huddle himself into a corner, bracing himself between two, harsh brick walls. Folded over himself in this position, exhausted and terrified, he would wait. Wait for the dark to retreat. Wait for it to stop trying to swallow him. It would always try to consume him, touch him, rot him, dead or alive. In both mind and body._

 _The blackness was a monster in itself. A monster that liked to smother him like a thick, choking blanket of dark, filling his chest with gnawing anxiety. A monster with thin, wispy fingers like smoke that trailed across his blotched yet fair skin, sending cries down his spine. A monster that liked to torture the child by isolating him from any familiarity, even in the cold, harsh chambers. Once the darkness came, the door which he was pushed through would hide within the walls, making the poor, frightened boy forget how he had even gotten into the void in the first place. Everything would become so still and quiet, that the sound of the blood pulsing in his ears became unrelenting. His own tired, sickly breathing like the howling of ghouls. Moreover, the dark enjoyed plucking the imaginary monsters from his head and inviting them into the room._

 _It always liked the monsters from the mountain as the best candidates for emotional harm and torture, especially the huge, White Giant from the most awful of his nightmares. The one that could howl tame winds into whirring blizzards and smite him down with one touch of its grotesque, yellow-clawed hand. With a huge, hunched form wielding fists like a man. But still, so far from anything like a man. It left man blood smothered in the disturbed snowfall. The skies twitching with frost. Those monsters would be the ones to make him cry, make him squeal, make him shut his eyes to try and expel the horror. Though, somehow, he could never truly escape the horrible creations inside his own head. Something had to be terribly wrong with him. All he could see was the monsters all of the time. Not just in the dark. He lived amongst the grotesque and dangerous every day. The Master wasn't terrified of them, he worshipped them like deities. Why was he different? Why was he afraid?_

 _No. Perhaps he was so scared of the darkness and the monsters because they weren't like him. The only living creatures he knew inside these walls were like them, not him. His master's creatures were hairy and mean, with giant teeth and claws and gaping maws that could snatch him up in a heartbeat. Snap his tiny bones. The only inhabitants of the place that bore the slightest resemblance to him were The Master and The Tall Purple Man, and that was when you squinted your eyes. to only view a silhouette and not a visage. The child was terribly afraid of The Tall Purple Man who lurked in the hallways. His whole body would uncontrollably seize up when the child felt the Behemoth's stare searing into his back. The Tall Purple Man was huge and lumbering like the White Giant from his dreams. Though it was purple instead of white and instead of terrifying him with ear-splitting roars, it intimidated him to tears with its eternal silence. Its mouth was puckered shut like a zombie's jaw and the only noises it made were low, rumbling grunts and snorts, like growling. Its eyes were hollow, cold and dead, so very dead and emotionless._

 _The Master was different to both of them. He was the only thing that the child could communicate with. The term 'thing' was to be used specifically because the child wasn't sure how far the older creature lay between monster and Man. The child had always found that The Master loved to speak. Compared to the child's innocent, meek words, his vocabulary was expansive and although he stood hunched over like an old man, he carried himself with immense pride. Though his voice was refined and sophisticated, it was harsh, like blood, running off of the corners of finely crafted glass or slate._

 _Though, everything about The Master was unfriendly and cold and made the small, delicate baby hairs on the back of the child's neck stand up in fear. When the master touched him with his bony, gloved hands, he didn't feel loved or appreciated, he just felt controlled, like a puppet on strings. Children were curious and wanted to know the answers with harmless intent. This wasn't curiosity, this was distrust and suspicion. Although The Master always spoke about the wonders of his creations and efforts and held the boy, his pawn, with such high zest, the child knew that there was something unnatural and sinister beneath the cloak he bore on his hunched back. He was too afraid to allow the rest of his small world know that he knew that so many of the missing pieces of his existence lay locked in place behind The Master's cold, solid mask. His façade of mystery._

 _Though, just as he was mysterious, he could be brutal and callous. Those pale, gaunt, yellow eyes could twist in anger and land a blow on his tiny, weak body. The ugly blotches on his skin of purple, brown and yellow were fair testimony to that. Although still young and innocent, the child was already developing an innate sense of loneliness within his life. He was unable to remember anything before his life with Master, so where had he came from? There had to be somebody else like him, there just had to be. What was outside those walls that The Master tried to hide from him, bathing him in the illusion that the outside was a cruel, abandoning place. If he was afraid here, if without reason, was the outside world an existence of unbearable pain and hurt? Was the Master really the Vanguard of safety?_

 _The current darkness brought unquellable guilt upon the child. His senses went completely numb with nothing to focus on, so he could only sit and contemplate his own mindless understanding. It was like a berg of ice in his guts that he was unable to melt or shift. It sat stationary inside him, creeping down into his core, creating feelings of unworthiness and remorse that he was still too young to fully understand. Sitting there, in the cold, lonely room, he knew exactly why he was there. He had done something wrong. He must have. The Master wouldn't do what he does if he hadn't been an annoyance, would he? The Master didn't like it when he was needy, or tearful, or when he asked too many questions. He was just a deadweight, deserving of abuse. It seemed like he had no true use, as if he was kept alive solely for some future purpose._

 _His body was like a fine porcelain, not a heavy, durable steel. He was covered in scuffs and scratches. Bruises and lash marks. He couldn't help hurting, just like he couldn't help being hungry or cold. This was a cold place. Cold like the mountains. This was a place where he was always hungry and famishment was always gnawing at his belly, chewing his insides, his stomach slightly caved in, with ribs looking skeletal from lack of suitable nutrition. The Master kept the best food out of his reach and only gave it to him when he cared less about questioning his own existence and began listening more keenly to The Master's preaching. Would these things get better the more he listened? The more he became like The Master? When the day came that he would stop being afraid of the monster and become one? Maybe. He only had one memory of somebody different that would bring him food. Somebody with a pure, idyllic touch and laughter, lots of soft, gentle laughter. An illusion by one of the monsters, or remnants of his beginning before the world turned its back on him?_

 _"Pity. It seems that in the shadow of the advanced societies and metropolises constructed by mankind, I have forgotten how imbecilic and needy their offspring can be!"_


	2. Internal conflict

The airship's hull had been built for instances such as these. He should know - he had constructed the behemoth zeppelin's entire design with the help of some of the best design engineers and architects that secret scientist organisation could recruit. The best that money could buy. It was built by some of the world's leading aviation pioneers. By the most advanced of physicists. Dr Solomon Saturday was a cryptozoologist. A man sporting multiple degrees in biology and natural sciences, rather than physics, but he knew that the massive ship's designers couldn't have provided a better tool for his research. A mobile sentinel, designed to be a role model vehicle to all existing safety and environmental standards. The vessel relied entirely on solar power and could charge whilst on the move. It could withstand heightened storms, rollovers and high altitudes, so the current weather wasn't any cause for concern, especially since they were stationed on the ground. The bridge of the airship was entirely built out of glass, which could often come in handy when encountering flying cryptids, as it gave you a 360-degree view of the landscape. The glass was entirely sealed and the panels were made out of strengthened float glass, for obvious safety reasons. He could relaxed knowing that the probability of the ship having an accident via mechanical failure was in decimal numbers.

They were currently underneath the brute force of a tropical storm, having docked in Cuba to gather some supplies and take up refuge. As resourceful as the airship was, it could only go so long to provide for its inhabitants. The bridge was nestled underneath the front of the ship, close to its belly, but only the most brutal lashings of rain were reaching the glass, just barely creating a cluster of soft tapping noises on the tough panes. The heavy rain was creating a river along the back of the ship, creating a wall of running water that sped down the sides of the ship, obscuring the rows of swaying palms from view, creating an optical illusion of muddy ripples that swayed and wobbled through the looking glass of liquid. He watched the trails of water leak down the glass like a mirage, his one working eye tracing the movements of the water in effort to try and find something to soften his tense mind into relaxing. There had been a lot on his mind recently. About family, work, safety...the rage of the weather outside seemed to bring some of his senses to rest. Though, through the howling of the wind and the hammering rain, Doc could still hear the approach of gentle footsteps. His hearing had never faded after years of work. The same couldn't have been said for his eyesight.

He had paid that price years ago, protecting his family. If he had to, he would sacrifice his life for them. He came to that oath for the first time years ago, when Zak was first born. Both Drew and Doc had little to no connections with their birth families. Doc had left home for his education at a young age, with his mother having died and his relationship with his father dying at the time. Drew was orphaned when she was ten. Her parents and her younger sibling had all died in an accident that he didn't know the details of. Drew was raised by monks until she was around fifteen, and then she moved to the states to live with a foster family. Doc had met her after graduating college, around nine years later. When Zak was born and Doc held the newborn's soft, fragile hand for the first time, seeing his cheerful, cherubic face made him realise how precious his son was to him. On that day, he had vowed that Zak Saturday wouldn't grow up without a supportive,loving mother and father, like he and Drew had.

"What's the matter honey?" His wife was always a welcome sight, even when he didn't turn to face her and stood staring at the furious clouds, arms listless at his sides. Though, Drew's smooth, honey-like voice would always provide calm in the middle of any storm; bringing him instant ease.

"Oh, nothing," he said, seemingly nonchalant. "I'm just...waiting." Waiting. Was that the best he could come up with? Drew was hard to fool, especially if she knew you well and there were few people she knew better than Doc.

Drew wrapped her arms around his waist in a comforting gesture, her smaller arms trying to wind themselves around his broad physique. "Waiting, for what?"

"Just waiting," he repeated.

Drew's lips curved up into a smirk as she turned him around to face him. She placed her hands on his chest with confidence, but her small smirk slowly turned into a look of sympathy when his dark hazel eye met the valour in her eyes, the rare shade of gentle, blue ice.

"Doc, what's wrong?" Drew was one of the very few people who could read him like a book.

"It's nothing Drew," he said dismissively.

"If it was nothing, you wouldn't be up here watching the rain," she gestured to the storm outside. Her face changed again, reflecting her own anxiousness, "It isn't like you to mope about like this. When you get devoted to a problem, you usually bury your head in your work like an ostrich."

Doc turned away from his wife and began pacing the bridge, his heavy steps dulled down by the sound of rain being flung against the windows. Drew was trying to bring some humour to the situation, but that didn't make her lover feel any less anxious. Drew followed after him, grabbing him by the hand as he made his way to the middle of the walkway.

"Is it Argost?"

Doc sighed, brutal honesty flashing in both his eyes, even his blind, glassy one. "There are nameless consequences of our discovery, Drew. The secret scientists may know less than we do, but they do know that there is a possibility that Zak could be Kur. Their sanctions thankfully make sense, and we don't have plans on this information playing into anybody else's hands, especially as the Naga have yet to surface and the only change in cryptid activity has been a slight spike in worldwide sightings. Argost was there, Drew. If he does know about this, I can't rest easy knowing that he might be conjuring up some maniacal scheme right now."

Drew tried to rub his shoulder to soothe him, but he shrugged her off, "Doc-."

"No, Drew. We have no idea what happened to Argost back in Antarctica. In all honesty, he could be watching us right now!"

"Doc, honey, you need to relax a little," Drew said, standing behind him and looking up a little to speak to him, due to Doc standing around half a foot taller than her. "Yes, Argost could be alive. But he's smart enough to think twice before he acts. With luck, he hasn't yet recovered from Antarctica, which should buy us some time to hide and reconsider our options. We don't know for sure that Argost knows the truth yet and if he doesn't, he'll be searching for the best way to get back at us, with Kur eliminated."

"That just makes his stereotypical thirst for vengeance stronger, Drew," Doc muttered, "Zak is a target more than any of us."

"I know," She sighed, leaning against his chest, "and I worry for my son, Doc."

Doc slowly pulled his arms around her, brushing strands of her ivory hair out of her face. He heard the anxious quiver in her voice and sighed.

"I know, Drew. As capable as Zak already is, I don't want him in danger any more than you do," Doc smiled at Drew. Drew smiled, pulling him down for a quick kiss on the cheek. As they separated, a shout rang out behind the closed doors to the rest of the ship, indicating that there was some type of unknown mischief going on in the other room.

"Fisk! Give me that back, you cheat!"

Drew and Doc shared a knowing smile. Drew wrapped her hand around Doc's wrist again, smiling. "Do you think we can catch them before they get themselves into even _deeper_ trouble?"

Doc took one last glance towards the monitor screens and then back towards the door, where Drew was trying to lead him. His instinctive reaction was to resist, to tell her that there was still work to be done, but Drew's powers of persuasion were uncanny. He was calling the shots, but she was just as much as a leader as he was and more determined and impulsive. The door to the bridge shunted open automatically, revealing a long, steel hallway and a trail of noise coming from one particular door at the end of the hall.

The door to the living area, was wide open, revealing the spacious room inside. The room was a spacious place, with a colour scheme of beige, tan and white, surprisingly organising compared to the havoc that was going on inside. The large, plasma TV mounted on the far wall was lit up by neon colours, predominantly a large, pixelated, obnoxious orange bar of text that read: GAME OVER. A tangle of wires and game controllers lay strewn across the carpet, having been put down in haste. In the middle of the room was a scene fit for a circus. Three bodies, tangled in a misfit heap like a bad game of twister. A heap consisting of a seven-foot tall Fiskerton phantom, a grumpy genetically modified komodo dragon and a young boy, Zak Saturday. Drew stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. Doc was mimicking her body language. It took a few minutes for the three arguing 'brothers' to notice the adults standing in the doorway. When they all did, the paused at once, staring up at the adults.

"And what do we think we're doing?" Drew asked, smirking as the child and the two cryptids untangled themselves. The two animals were gazing back and forth, averting their eyes, whilst the boy was wearing a large, innocent grin that didn't fool either of them in the slightest. After a not-so-intense stare off, the boy lost his grin and expressed defeat.

"Hey Mom, Dad," Zak greeted with an apologetic tone to his voice. Both parents rolled their eyes, unsurprised.

"Do your mother and I even need to ask what happened?" Doc asked.

"Fisk cheated!" The boy pointed a finger of blame towards the ape cryptid who spluttered defensive garble in return, offended.

"Come on boys, you know better than that," Drew scolded, but there was a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"We're bored," Zak groaned, picking up the TV remote and pressing a red button so that the screen turned to black. "Can't we go out or something?"

"Sorry Zak," Doc apologised, "but that's just not possible right now. We need to keep an eye on you, especially with the weather..."

"Its because I'm Kur isn't it?" Drew and Doc sighed, Zak was quick to jump to conclusions at the moment. The two cryptids fell silent, suddenly more interested in looking at their own feet rather than engaging.

Drew got down on one knee, "Zak, honey, we love you. We don't want anything to happen to you, that's all."

"Mom, we've barely left the airship since Antarctica and all you guys ever do is worry about me. Is it about Argost? Fisk and I have already beaten him once, we can do it again."

"Zak, things have changed since then," Drew swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "Argost wants Kur's power more than anything in the world, Zak. If he knows it's inside you, we don't know what means he'll go through to get them."

Zak frowned, "but I've always had my powers Mom, how does it make it any different now?" Drew hugged her son.

"It just does sweetie. Until we know for sure that Argost isn't tracking us, we're going to have to keep city hopping."

"Alright," Zak looked up at his Dad, "did you find anything else out about Kur, dad?"

"Actually, I found something that might be of some use to us. It stems from the articles on Kur's only known tomb, but I have yet to totally verify the information."

Drew seemed intrigued, "where did you find it?"

"Its a page from an archaeological study, back in the 1980s. Though there is no direct link, the architecture seems to be very similar to the scriptures on the kur stone. I was hoping your translating skills would be able to put that to the test."

"I'll give it my best shot Honey."

Doc moved from where he was stood and walked across the hall to an opposite door. Drew followed first, then Zak and the cryptids joined her. The doors opened into the information hub and Doc started typing on the console in the centre of the room, the screens beaming up several holographic panels. Doc zoomed in on one specific screen, an image of the ruins of what could have been a gleaming citadel thousands of years before. To Zak, it seemed like an Aztec, or Mayan construction, but he could have been wrong.

"Doc, where were these photos taken?"

"Belize," Doc answered, "in the centre of the rainforest."

"Then how could it have Sumerian origins?" Zak asked.

"I'm not sure." Doc scrolled through the pictures until something captured Drew's attention.

"Wait, stop there," Drew said. "Some of these symbols are definitely the earliest known form of Sumerian." Land of God, man and mountain, which could also be interpreted as...Kur."

"Ancient Sumerian is of Asian origin, why would there be-?"

"Maybe Kur liked to travel the world?" Zak joked.

"Sort of possible, kiddo," Drew said, "the original Kur had many reincarnations, not all of them were in Sumerian settlements."

"This part of the temple is under government protection, so should still be in relatively good condition as shown in the photographs. Do you think it is worth taking a look at, Drew?"

"Its one of the only leads we currently have, besides the Kur stone. Plus, it isn't too far away. Belize is only a two-hour flight from here, so we can go as soon as the storm clears."

Doc smiled, "I'll go plot us a course for when the airship is ready to fly." This time, Drew didn't stop to question him when he left the room.

Drew frowned for a moment, sighing. Zak seemed affected, "Let me guess, you think Argost is gonna follow us there too."

"Zak," Drew sighed, "this isn't as stupid as you think. Honey, I don't want to scare you, but if Argost finds out, it is possible that the network of villains he associates with will too and on his say so, they might come after you."

A twinge of worry appeared in Zak's eyes, "Yeah, I know. And I know that if he tells everyone else, everyone will start to think I'm bent on world domination."

Drew brought her son closer to her side. "We just want you to be careful. It might seem like you've seen it all, but Argost always has one last trick up his sleeve. Something, or someone dangerous to use at his disposal."


	3. Childhood

_"Goodness me, boy! And to think I raised you with such elegant finesse. Have you no decency?"_

 _The child was finally starting to mature. Argost thought his accursed 'progeny' would never see the day. Humans were so inefficient. Stripped of their complex tools and engineering, they were useless. With hide so thin and eligible to bruising. Teeth and claws so blunt and useless that in an evolutionary respect, it was extraordinary that they were considered to be apex predators. Even amongst fellow, recognised primates, they were a blip in history in comparison with strength and stamina. The only strenght of mankind, was his huge expanse of knowledge that Argost keenly wanted to study. However, even amongst all humans, it seemed that the child he snatched for personal study was a weakling, and a scrawny little runt at that. It had ghostly blanched skin that barely stretched and strained over paper bones, where weaknesses and wounds could show up like glowing targets. Red, black and blue. He had seen chubby, cherubic infants during his many studies of Television. rosy cheeked, future entrepreneurs and greedy, spoilt youths raised and babied on money. This child was nothing but skin and bones. A walking half-skeleton. It had been so easy to break the boy's spirit. The disappointment of an easy thrill nearly snuffed the satisfaction he received from watching him suffer. Those fractured, icy eyes didn't hold fear anymore. There was no gleam of any emotion. Just cold spheres, nearly grey and expressionless, like the face of the moon, the side of a worn sixpence. That was another division between humans and animals - thirst for survival and want for perfection. Instincts and function. To explain: A newborn Peluda is birthed with spines that develop into spears capable of delightfully slicing flesh within days. A perfectly bloodthirsty infant chupacabra can stand up and hunt after hours. An adolescent Allegwi can uproot the maturest of Redwood trees._

 _"Nor any manners, it seems. Stand up straight and don't slouch your shoulders boy!"_

 _Humans, on the other hand, were spineless husks at birth, depended entirely on a kind motherly figure and matured at a painstakingly-slow pace. A pace so slow that in some instances, he had regretted not killing the little brat along with the rest of his brood when he had first laid his cold, calculating eyes on him. He couldn't recall what bizarre epiphany had caused this. It would have been so much easier to have left him lying in the stained red snow, where heavy flakes could soon bury the stains and the tiny, lifeless form left behind. Yet, of cryptids and recognised species, humans were the most powerful. Every species of the planet, lived on decision by the human race. A sad truth, but so maliciously strategic. He would constantly wrack his brains to find out why. Could the child repeat this astonishing pattern that moved against all laws of primary evolution? Their complex cities and diverse societies made his heart burn with envy. The hatred for a population of seven billion closed around the throat of a single infant. The language of revulsion was indecipherable to the innocent boy, who Argost hoped would never realise that he was quite hapless. Argost knew he had succeeded in weaselling his way at least halfway into the boy's mind yet. Rage against humankind had yet to start to boil inside of him. Searing fury for being abandoned by what he believed to be a unthinkably cruel race. The poison lay dormant inside him, frozen. Sadness and regret for his abandonment. And Argost hoped that the child took to heart every distorted comment about his spoilt lifestyle and disrespectful, rude behaviour._

 _"You must remain polite if I am to introduce you to a very special guest to our lovely abode."_

 _Human development was a very interesting specimen for study. Although the youth was still physically weak and lethargic, his intelligence and independence were starting to take wing. At this age, he could wrap his head around Argost's vocabulary and his grotesque motives. Lashing upon lashing, he had realised to keep his mouth shut. Keep his head down. To speak when spoken to. In the background, was a transition from childhood to adolescence. The boy's infantile, petit body had grown. Enough so he could now stand at the hunchback's shoulder, without having to crane his neck upwards. Sadly, to the older creature's disappointment, his body was still twig-thin and wispy, still unable to withstand a single blow. Argost felt conflicted. The orphaned boy had hardened himself like a rock in the face of fear or weakness. He took all persecution with a sutured mouth. Suppressing the screams that fought to escape from his blue-tinged lips. He had witnessed Argost's pets tear each other to pieces over fresh meat. He had watched the TV host's entire collection of macabre and horror films. Flickering screens full of awful, monochrome gore. And he no longer batted an eye. Like he was frozen stiff._

 _"Kidnapping children, Argost? I have to admit, even I'm disgusted."_

 _Although he was tolerant of pain, his body crumbled like chalk in the wake of stormy tides. Argost couldn't correct this himself and that ate at his mind constantly. He carried out his assassinations with elegance and finesse. The boy wasn't so cunning and mysterious as to imitate these ways at such an age. Stealth and sleekness was a desired finish, but surely a dash of brute force couldn't harm the mixture? He had educated the boy in basic etiquette and speech. Geographical knowledge and cryptic biology. Both of which he had a strong grasp of. Yet, there were some things Argost couldn't teach him. Argost would always be the best teacher to fill his head with lies and hate, but perhaps he wasn't the one to teach baby steps when it came to getting his hands dirty. Survival. Ballistics. Combat. How to behave amongst his own race. The last requirement was essential. Creatures raised in isolation could be highly unstable and if he was ever to prove useful, the boy would need walk amongst them, without raising the slightest suspicion. The boy hadn't seen another real human being in years. Not since he was torn away from ties of flesh and blood. Argost needed someone that wouldn't soften the child's impalpable emotions or ruin the mind-set that Argost been poisoning him with. He didn't want all of the lies and fables to unravel in the boy's head. He needed someone who could be cruel and apathetic. Someone who wasn't deterred by the plight of a child. Argost knew just the young man he needed to call._

 _"Dear Leonidas, must you always jump to conclusions?"_

 _Leonidas Van Rook was the epitome of mankind's ugly greed. A young man that would never contribute anything good to anyone without charging an extortionate bill first. A ruthless man who acted on his own selfish desires and hoarded his earnings like the way a dragon fiercely guards it's cave of treasure. As such, bad tempered creatures reminded him of the mercenary. The perfect candidate. A worse father figure was hard to find. The latter hated children with a passion. Even his own. If he was ever to have any. Furthermore, he knew the information that was they key to Argost's schemes. Although he seemed inane, if he hadn't been such a greedy man with a fixation for cheap ballistics, he could have followed a successful career in cryptozoology. Each to their own, he supposed. Leonidas was far from pleasant to anyone, even to his employers. A master at haggling and negotiating. A notorious backstabber. Van Rook would almost always show up armed and would often reveal his foul temper even before he had entered the mansion. He would rather insult or shoot at the adolescent than compliment him. The mercenary wouldn't tolerate any complaints. He wouldn't care about the aura of misery that followed the boy like a depressing cloud. This would hopefully work perfectly. Argost couldn't have set up a better scheme. If only he could erase some of the extra noughts that he knew would appear on Van Rooks bill. It would definitely take some of his uncanny powers of persuasion and charisma to enforce this deal._

 _"I know better to than assume he's yours, you chalk-faced freak. Besides, nobody in their right mind would have kids with you."_

 _Things had remained in equilibrium for boy. The time had stood still. Perhaps time couldn't touch the house, or any of its inhabitants, other than him. Neither The Master - Argost, as he was more commonly called, or his closest servant had changed. They could have been eternal. The only changes had been on his perspective, consequences of him. The pale, anaemic child afraid of his own shadow and the imaginary monsters that buzzed like static flies in his head. He supposed that who he was. Who he was destined to be. Asymmetrically, maybe he didn't have to be alone anymore. Maybe his own kind were not as cruel as The Master always blethered about? This proof was a recent guest to the house, a man that Argost had greeted as Mr Leonidas Van Rook. The boy could remember how shocked he was to see Argost invite a man into weird world. Mankind. A hateful, disgusting race full of cruelty and malice. If Argost was a human under that oblique mask and heavy cloak, it made the boy wonder what they must have done to him to make him think that way. Though, as he looked at his masked superior, he could never truly figure out what, or who, he was. The man, Van Rook, wore a mask too, but the boy already had a sneaking suspicion that the layer of metal over his face was no more than a concealer, not a rug to sweep secrets under. The Master wasn't thrilled with his first impressions. The only things that came through those doors were cryptids, so when another human being came waltzing into the living area and made himself at home on the antique furniture that day, he had frozen and backed himself into a corner. Afraid not only because of The Master's stories but also because as long as he could remember, this was his first time seeing another human. He knew humans were terrible, mean creatures, even if he didn't know why. When the older male stared down at the younger, skinnier figure, the latter took one look into the former's wizened, rugged dark eyes and was overwhelmed by shock, his eyes flashing with terror. He had felt like he about to be wrung up and slaughtered. What had he done to deserve to be left to the tyranny of mankind?_

 _"Language, Mr Van Rook. The boy is of an impressionable age."_

 _Not everything was sunshine and sweetness immediately. He remembered Mr Van Rook's entire body shaking with laughter. Not cackling, just mockery. So perhaps The Master was right in that respect? It wasn't atypical to what he had learnt. Arrogance. Cruelty towards the rest of the earth, or maybe even those of their own race? There wasn't much of his shrivelled heart left to care. Or break. Nonetheless, he had felt a sharp stabbing inside his rib cage. Part of the weak wall around his dying heart broke, a new corner of the organ withering. He had finally found another person like him. He wasn't completely isolated anymore and already, he had missed a stride, stumbled on a note and been left rejected. It seemed like Leonidas could care less about him. He was entirely disinterested about the child, like he was somebody's shadow. Argost's shadow. Though, when Van Rook berated him, hit him, it didn't carry the usual sting, or cause him to turn tail and beg from remorse. He found that Van Rook was blunt and rude about his opinions and orders. When the boy blundered, Van Rook would yell at him or swear at him in a dialect that he wasn't familiar with. If his behaviour was particularly unproductive, he would receive a slap or maybe a soft punch from the mercenary. Something that the boy would have described as playful. At least through his eyes. Once he got to know the grumpier individual, the boy never felt fear. His words carried hate and bitter cold all the same, but there was just something about his workings that differed from Argost. He was blunt and straightforward. He didn't play cat and mouse with his victims, or hover silently on their shoulder like a wraith. Argost still sent frightening blue chills across his body. Sometimes, still successfully able to make him want to curl up and die. Leonidas wasn't controlling. Perhaps he was younger and so had more youth to his spirit too? He was obviously younger than Argost. His frame was strong and burly and his hair was mostly black, apart from a few rogue strands of grey at the sides. His voice was deep and gravelly, but that was due to a strong accent._

 _"Yes, he seems absolutely lovely Argost. But don't tell me your nose-wiping little brat concerns my business."_

 _Their relationship was anything but delightful to begin with. The boy observed that Van Rook always carried a foul taste in his mouth, especially when he addressed anybody. He was as headstrong and steely as the plain mask over his skull. His temper was as explosive as the small, rounded bombs the boy could see nestled on straps across his chest. The serpentine of bullets lined up around his wrist blaster. Would he be taught to use the same dangerous weapons? Probably. When he was older. Less tense. He didn't think he had much chance of becoming a marksman with such feeble, trembling hands. The force from a gun alone would probably cause him to fall backwards. Most of what he had already learnt was only physical combat. Not that he was a match for Van Rook. The latter would sooner break one of his brittle bones before the former would be able to create the slightest dent to his skin. Training sessions were usually full of yelling and cursing. So he just wasn't designed or cut out for physical activity? Yet Van Rook kept trying to scrape his weak body off the ground. When his lungs were burning and his heart was surging up his throat._

 _"Don't be rash. You were once an imbecilic child too, Leonidas."_

 _Though, one thing made him withstand the hours he spent with the mercenary. Made him listen to Leonidas' monotonous lectures. They offered him a taste of freedom. A chance to escape the cold, crimson walls of weird world. Escape the cameras. Escape the bugs and the monsters. The house of horrors. For the first time in years: he could go outside. Argost would never allow them to travel to far. He would always like them to stay within sight of the chateau - but it was a start. Van Rook had been disgusted when the boy had been spooked by nothing but empty air, but he didn't care. He liked being free. There was something different about the soft wind that caressed his matted hair, and if he had been capable of love, he would have loved to listen to its soft sounds as it rustled through the trees. The rain gave him release. The cold, damp droplets soothed his marred skin and, when the sun did peak out, the golden light warmed his bones. In the nightmare factory, there was no sun. No rain. Just the rumbling of the torture mechanisms in the halls and the despaired cries of the creatures down beneath. The closest he had got to the outside was a pane of glass away. When he had the chance to sit in the shadow of one of the giant, gothic windows, he would press his scrawny face up to the windows. Through the condensation of his warm breath and the blood-red tint of the glass, he would be able to make out faint contours in the distance. A small, grimy creek and gnarled trees eclipsing the high, lonely mountains far away. When he trained outdoors, it was always more alive. He was starting to come to the conclusion that everything that the house touched was dead, or dying. The ground, the trees, the beasts...his body just seemed to keep on going. Was he actually dead, or just dreaming?_

 _"I wasn't raised in an insane asylum."_


	4. extraordinary

They moved quickly from one storm to another. A vague feeling of out of the frying pan and into the fire. Walking through the dense rainforest, the weather was conflicting. The remaining clouds were thin, white pillars that rolled across the sharp blue sky on a soft breeze. The midday sun peeked through the curtains of white and brightened the dense archway of branches over their heads. Though, another recently departed tropical rainstorm had left a reservoir of water on the lush forest leaves, which, with the slightest breeze, became a torrential downpour on their heads from under a clear sky. You had to make the choice of sweating death or getting soaked in a rainforest. At this time of day, it was too humid to wear the kind of coats that they had on the airship. Doc and Drew were persevering with every cold, uncomfortable raindrop that dripped from the trees and ran down the backs of their collars. Fiskerton and Zak were the only ones who proceeded with exuberance, joy and lots of noise. Though, Komodo and Zon were happy to follow - being coldblooded, this was the perfect environment for them. Though, this wasn't a problem whilst they were isolated in the centre of miles and miles of jungle. Fisk's babbling and Zak's shouting were both perfectly masked by the creatures of the forest. The birds and insects created an endless labyrinth of noise that pelted them from all directions. The loud croaking and chattering sounds from the toucans and Macaws above, nestled high up in the emergent trees provided a roof to the cylindrical chorus of the insects that swarmed the group in all directions, unbeknown to them until a large beetle or mosquito soared past the ear or became apparent in the beams of sunlight, sending Doc into a frenzy of swatting at the back of his neck. From afar, there was the sound of howling gibbons in the trees. Fiskerton's bold red eyes widened curiously at the sound of what could be a distant DNA relative swinging free through the trees above them, occasionally stopping to peer down from the trees.

Rainforests had always been one of Zak's favourite locations. It wasn't really to do with the unbearable humidity, but more to do with the quantity of biodiversity. Rainforests accommodated more than 1/3rd of all species on earth, he had learnt, and with that came the knowledge that the tropical forests held dozens of cryptid species, just waiting to be uncovered. Zon was a prime example of that. Kur could feel them all around him, even when Zak couldn't hear or see them, and it was comforting to know that there were so many comforting shadows hidden in with the trees. All in all Zak just enjoyed the feeling of being surrounded by nature. Animals were much easier to understand then people. A lot of people currently in his life didn't give him the respect he felt that he deserved. The secret scientists, for example, had known him since he was a child and although they tolerated his Kur powers because he was eleven and just how much damage could a scrawny eleven year old do, there was still distrust. Zak would much rather have honesty than lies. And animals didn't lie. They were simple and blunt when it came to opinion. When he looked up at the colourful parrots lining the tree branches above his head, he saw no hate in those beady brown eyes. Animals didn't hate. At least as often as people did.

The constant barrage of noise and humidity was somewhat welcomed by Doc and Drew. Without it, you would have to question if you were in a real rainforest at all and not some trap of the mind. Besides, animals had a keen sense of preservation and would fall silent or start to cry out in alarm in the presence of danger. The tropical forest's tune didn't waver at all. Not dying down or raising in pitch. A delicate balance. Good. The adults, especially Doc, knew that they needed all of the security they could find. If Argost was alive, he wouldn't be the only one after his son. If Argost knew about Kur's reincarnate or not, he would be sending mercenary upon bounty hunter after the family, each one worse than the last. Perhaps on orders to kill. Argost was not a man to accept defeat easily. He squandered and planned each step of his revenge with finesse. His retrieval of the Kur stone was testimony to that. He would follow his dark schemes, even if it took him eleven years to execute them. Doc felt hopeless, like he was treading over thin ice. They had little to no contacts that they could call upon without explaining their hidden secrets, whereas Argost had hundreds of criminals at his fingertips. It was a wonder how the world could be so gullible to the likes of Argost and his infamous weird world show. Speaking of mysteries, the news reports and the information downloaded to the cryptipedia were helpful but didn't give enough insight into the exact coordinates of the temple. Luckily, they had Zon as their eyes in the sky. Otherwise, they wouldn't be able to locate the direction that the temple was facing. The temple was a tall, lost citadel, but they couldn't see over the miles of dense branches and lianas draped down from the jungle ceiling.

 **Eeyarr!**

Doc looked up to see a large figure descending gently down through the branches, sending birds scattering in all directions. The pteranodon landed on her knees and turned, tucking her head under her wing to preen herself. Zak approached Zon, smiling as he gently rubbed the prehistoric cryptid's bill, Zon cooing in content at being petted. The animal's fluorescent, beady pink eyes were trained on Zak as the boy smiled. Only would you have seen the gentle flickers of amber in his eyes at that moment if you were already expecting them to ignite.

Zak frowned, "Mom, Zon can't see anything from the sky." Doc and Drew looked at each other. Doc brought his arm to rest in front of him, setting up the mobile cryptipedia on his wrist. He frowned as the miniature computer system bathed him in a green light.

"Well that's unusual. We're nearly at the exact coordinates."

"Maybe we're missing something. Perhaps its under a concealment spell? Maybe we're even looking at a riddle."

"Or maybe the jungle is just too dense," Doc shook his head in disbelief. Drew folded her arms and smirked playfully,

"No trees can cover up a giant Sumerian temple."

"We don't need magic to explain a hoax."

"Mom, dad," Zak complained, "can't you stop the magic vs science thing? Maybe Dad just got the wrong coordinates."

"I did not," Doc folded his arms in certainty. Drew snickered. Drew stared over into the distance, where the dense, dark jungle condensed into darkness.

"Let's keep going. If we're getting close, we'll find some disturbances to indicate human activity." Drew lowered the fire sword and started to cut away at thick sections of the jungle brush, with Fiskerton - who was naturally adapted to trees and forests - following close behind her. Zak and Doc followed next as Zon once again took to the skies.

"We'll keep searching. Temples cant just vanish into thin air." Zak followed Fisk closer to the waterfall. If they were going to get lost in the central American Rainforest, they might as well explore, even if Zak suspected Fisk would somehow get them grounded. Again. Partway through the dense cavern of ferns, was a stone pillar, standing separate from the landscape, turned mossy brown from age and reclamation from nature. Drew knelt to examine the faint hieroglyphs in the worn stone.

"Directions," Drew mumbled under her breath. She got up and gestured with her firesword deeper into the forest.

"We're on the right track boys."

Doc growled under his breath as Drew lead them deeper into the jungle, Zak and Fisk gawking in wonder at the totems that lined the walkway - it was barely visible through the reclamation of nature, but the soil was definitely disturbed. Zak felt his stomach turn when he came to look at the grotesque creatures etched in the stone pillars. He could feel an unhealthy warmth, germinating in his stomach as a chilling shiver travelled over his dark skin, making the soft hairs on his body stand on edge. If the Sumerians didn't record the destructive reign of Kur, they locked it inside a stone tablet and buried it for thousands of years. He felt a terrible drilling sensation behind his eyes as the bright orange sparks flickered across his face. The fear - perhaps it wasn't his. Perhaps that when he looked at the stone monsters, portraying gaunt cryptids, almost like dragons, staring down at the weaker, youthful humans, Kur's spirit breathed inside of him in disgust. Or was it in glee? Something was disturbing the balance; the cause was too prevalent to be the stone guardians alone. Something, or someone, was observing them. Him. And it made his skin crawl. Perhaps not even that. This was Sumerian heritage and mystic icons usually sparked the spirit dormant inside of him. Neither Komodo or Fisk - who both had sharp instincts - seemed to notice and seemed more observant of their adoptive mother explaining the history of the stone ruins that were becoming more and more present the deeper they proceeded into the jungle. The end of these ruins was signified by some sort of hidden lagoon. A ring of rushing water, framed by a Stonehenge of these mystic tombstones and a gushing waterfall in the far back. Steam ghosted across the muddy brown water and dispersed into the air. Zak's eyes trained to the left as he noticed Komodo become intangible to next to him and wander off into the ferns. Fisk's sensitive ears were twitching rapidly, despite all of the already present racket of animals. Drew and Doc started to follow the water's edge and Zak followed suit, assuring himself that there was safety in numbers.

"I don't understand," Drew sighed, "those were definitely directions. I don't know where we could have gone wrong."

Fisk wandered off towards the waterfall, Zak following. Fisk peered into the fast flowing water, his red eyes glowing in curiosity. He gestured to the water worriedly, beckoning Zak over to come and look.

"What is it Fisk?" Zak asked, trying to look closer at the water. Though, he didn't get much of a chance to do that, as Fisk stuck his arm into the waterfall and splashed a wave of murky water into his face. "Hey!" Zak cried as he wiped his face, though he soon started to laugh. Zak reached into the waterfall to exact his revenge on his brother, but jerked his hand back as a bright jet of light reflected back from the waterfall. Zak back away, worried. "Mom, Dad!" The waterfall seemed to be flowing backwards, retreating up the face of rock to reveal some kind of opening. Doc and Drew ran over and Zon landed on the other side of the bank. The water continued to rise until it disappeared over the cliff of the falls, revealing a long, dark cavern extending into the ascending mountain face. "Whoa..." Zak gasped.

"If that's not magic, I don't know what is," Drew smirked. "We're totally going in there, right?" "Hang on kiddo, we've just got to check that its safe first. Sumerian mythology has a lot of tricks up its sleeve."

"At least hypothetically," Doc stated as Drew withdrew her firesword from its scabbard and lowered it in front of her. The blazing tip of the weapon could light at least 50 metres forwards and even then - no light was visible from the other side of the cavern. Drew moved slowly forwards, making sure to point her weapon towards any potential danger. Zak, Fisk, Komodo and Zon followed next and Doc sealed in the back of the group, with his battle gauntlet ignited. The cavern was quite enclosed and rather snug, close enough for Zak to touch the dark walls on either side of him. Strangely, it extended upwards, enough for Fisk to stand up properly. As such, the cavern had poor acoustics. The sounds of footsteps and dripping water bounced off of the rock and created a static buzzing. "This thing goes on forever," Zak whispered. They must have been walking for at least five minutes and there was no light in either direction. Only after double this time, did Drew start to see a glimpse of white light in the distance. They still continued at a careful pace, as the light turned into an angular gateway that let enough light through for Zak to be able to see his own hands. When he had the chance to look back up, his jaw dropped in amazement. It was no wonder they couldn't see the landmarks from the database photographs. There was no way to see the temple, from the sky or outside. It was carved from the insides of what seemed to be the dead shell of a volcano. Drew and Doc stared in awe at the landscape. Only a tiny stream of sunlight was able to break through the crust of the mountain and illuminate the lost civilisation. Yet, somehow, trees and vines were still able to flourish and they could make out the faint cries of the exotic birds lining the cone of the peak.

"It's incredible," Drew whispered,

"no wonder we couldn't find it on the map."

"Quite the wonder of engineering," Doc stated, as Fisk, Zak and Komodo moved forward to explore.

"Boys, be careful! This is still a dangerous, ancient site." There was a steep incline from the slope, which led down into a deep jungle, which Fisk was able to carry Zak and Komodo down. From there, was a straight path until a long, mossy staircase blocked their way. From there, the temple opened up into a dark passage, of which the contents were hidden. Drew frowned, and Zak felt a shiver travel up his spine. The closer he got to the temple, the more aggravated the devious spirit of Kur in his soul was becoming. There was no questioning that this wasn't a place that damned the ancient reincarnations of Kur. He looked up at one of the ancient stone statues, some kind of warrior, engaged in battle with another creature. Zak stared up at the stone man's sword, plunged into the chest of the large, armed snake-man creature. Nagas. Drew was at the bottom of the steps when she noticed Zak's discomfort. Her son's occasionally dormant eyes were starting to spark with discomfort. She knelt down on one knee in front of him.

"Zak, honey, if this is too difficult for you, we'll find some other way to-."

"What? No, Mom, its okay really. I just...my powers know that this place isn't Kur friendly."

"I know sweetie. As soon as we can get the answers we need, we can get out of here."

Zak stayed close between his mother and Fiskerton, eyes darting around as they walked forwards. Komodo was behind them and Zon was circling overhead. Her shadow occasionally passed over them. Atop the stairwell was what once could have been a great hall - now a lonely passage fallen into disrepair. Cobwebs and vines hung from the ceilings and dust decorated the walls. Zak squinted in the blackness. He put one foot forwards and the whole structure groaned. The rest of the family looked back at him. The darkened walls held a dim, dark brown glow that eventually brightened to a soft, bold orange that presented lines of hieroglyphics along the walls. The aura gave a sudden flash, causing them to fall to their knees in surprise. Several bats resting on the ceiling had been disturbed by the light and flew down dangerously close over their heads to escape the light, causing Fiskerton to scream. When they recovered from the sudden shock, Drew started forwards and managed to translate some of the symbols.

"Directions," Drew paled, "to the channel of the underworld."

"The channel of the underworld?" Zak repeated, "what does that have to do with Kur?"

"Well, in some eras of Sumerian and Babylonian mythology, Kur wasn't an entity, but the underworld. A cavern deep below the ground that was a shadowy construct to life on Earth." "

You mean that Kur wasn't always a cryptid?"

"No, not always kiddo. What we might find here could be some kind of map."

"What do the directions say?" Doc asked.

"We're supposed to keep following the tunnel and it should bring us to the 'mouth of the underground', whatever that symbolises." Drew moved first, the firesword lighting the way. Now that the hieroglyphs were alight, they could see them separate into columns and travel up the walls and as they continued to walk, it opened up into another dome shaped room. The room was fairly dark - the once clear glass dome had been covered by plant growth, so only areas where the glass was broken allowed light to seep through. Though, Zak could see that the walls were devoid of hieroglyphs. Instead, they were painted with history. Although the paints had faded with immense age, Zak could make out different cryptids, surging along the walls. However, the paintings were distorted. The beasts had huge, open maws that leaked flames and eyes that were wide with rage. All of their pupils stared in the same direction, towards the centre of the room, where there was another statue. It looked like a Naga, except this creature was built with legs, and a long, crocodile-like muzzle. It had its huge scaly feet positioned over a huge stone slab altar that was built into the floor, as if guarding it fiercely. Zak stared it in the eyes. Was that thing guarding the channel of the underworld, or was that Kur himself?

Doc frowned, "Okay, how do we go about examining this?"

"You don't!" Zak felt a cold stake stab his heart. A large portion of the glass ceiling shattered, light rushing in to blind them. Fisk was racing to cover his brother and Doc shielded Drew from the shards of glass. Two figures descended from the ceiling, one hunched and one brusque. They landed close to the stone statue, staring at the family who were huddled in the other corner of the room. "Greetings and bienvenue Saturdays! So sorry to rain on the parade, but I do believe that I deserve a portion of the spoils too."


	5. Adolescence

**_Still alive! I apologise for taking so long to update this, I didn't realise its been nearly 7 months since I posted. Luckily I've been working with some other writers and getting closer to having more free time, so I've been getting back into the plot - big prompts to Ashblackrabbit for that. Chapters will be coming out much faster soon, I promise. Also, if you do want to leave a review, I'd really appreciate some constructive criticism, I wan this AU to be much better than my old works._**

* * *

 _"My dear simple-minded juvenile, they will be expecting us to be scrambling to retrieve their precious stone. Why waste valid effort now when we will be awarded with a spectacular feat of vengeance once they lower their guard."_

 _Under the coat of malice in the pale faced demon's voice, there had always been an undercurrent of greed. There had always been some obsession with power and controlling the helpless in Argost. However, given that the boy himself lived on the bare minimum, he had notions about satisfaction that were just as flawed as any of Argost's. They were both starving – except Argost wasn't starving to survive. He was craving for a different kind of nourishment. World domination. The precious artifact that they had been robbed of, was more than just another priceless artifact to hang over the mantle. Far from it. According to legend – or Argost – The Kur Stone was a key. A very old, cryptic key that could help its bearer gain control of the most powerful cryptid in the world. A beast with the strength of one thousand men, capable of controlling the entire world. Kur was the king of the cryptids and monsters of ancient times, it was a ruler that sought to purge mankind from the earth; and Argost wanted the power, so he could make them all kneel at his feet. He wanted to send armies of cryptids into the cities to maim and maul civilisation until it crumbled down to obedience._

 _The deprived, feral part of the boy wanted to suppose that the humans deserved it. It wanted to see them overthrown if it meant he would have a better life. Afterall, from what he had surmised, humans had destroyed the planet and hunted other beasts close to extinction. They had been enslaving and mistreating lesser beings for hundreds of years, right back into history and they were incapable of selflessness or compassion. Besides, he had his own grudges against the rest of his brood, for abandoning him to starve to death in this broken-down hell whilst they gorged on luxuries, even if it was Argost who saved him. Why didn't they want him? He knew it shouldn't have by now, but it made envy brew deep in his shrivelled-up heart because it was injustice. It was so unfair. What was the awful thing he could have done to deserve this? That part of him relied on Kur as a protector, just like the cryptids did. Kur was supposedly a creature that had been enslaved and chained down by humanity but found the strength as a one of a kind to pull through and destroy its captors. That made him admire the ancient God. Mankind would be forced to kneel and beg for mercy at the feet of the monster, just like he – a screaming infant – had knelt under Argost's boot in fear._

 _It must have been something unforgivable, the crime he had committed, because he was so little during his earliest memories of this place. Had there been something unusual about him? Then again, cryptid mothers were known to abandon their young when threatened by starvation or conflict, because one life saved was better than none. That was survival of the fittest. That was something that he understood. There wasn't much to remember before those times. He had tried so hard to recover his first memories from under the darkness. Though, one in particular had stuck with him this long. It was fuzzy, and there were pieces missing, but it reassured him that he might – at one time or another – have had a mother that had loved him. At least he though she was his mother. All he could remember clearly were her soft, icy blue eyes and her hair, whiter than light. There were other people too, but he couldn't remember them quite like he thought he knew this woman. He didn't know if she was still alive. If she had been, and if she had loved her child, surely, she wouldn't have allowed him to live captive in this squalor?_

 _Though, the appeal of power made another part of him curl up in disgust and fear. He supposed it was the remaining shreds of humanity left in him. Despite the fact that they went against everything he had been taught – they seemed to keep him sane. Though, they conjured up awful, gory visions of the cryptid deity. The fact that he was human, created corrupted fantasies deep within his troubled mind. All he could ever see of Kur was blood and anguish and fire. Death and control at every turn. Every inch of land was scorched black and the skies were blood red with flames and thick, black smoke. Flesh, bodies and grass, all churned up and trampled down into pulp. There was nothing left living and yet that monster kept consuming…it made his empty stomach churn with anxiety. He was a human, and it had been bred into him that, like rats, they would have to face an omnipotent exterminator if Kur was reawakened. The thought of which made a soft shiver travel down his spine. He wasn't normally frightened of cryptids, having been living with them throughout his life. However, there was something about this omnipotent beast that scared him beyond belief._

 _However, that would have to wait. Argost had just lost the key to humanity and now he was deep into conducting a rebellion within the remains of his chateau. The small, orderly conference was taking place in the west wing, (the oldest, most fruitless of the chateau), in the drawing room – one of the few that wasn't reduced to beams and foundations. Though, as the boy surveyed his surroundings, nowhere was spared the destruction from the vicious siege. There were gaping cracks in the walls that were leaking plaster, exposing the beams beneath. Corners of the room were scorched black and crumbled. Walls were dented with bullet holes and blast craters, and the priceless works of art of the supernatural and macabre, they were hanging askew or torn in half. The huge, expensive, crystal chandelier on the ceiling made his anxiety shudder, with the way it hung by a thread to the ceiling, ready to fall and shatter into a million shards of glass. Glass that could cut just as easy as any knife._

 _However, Argost was indifferent to the destruction. The man with millions on the table and the easiest access to the black market in the world wouldn't need to be. He had dozens of mercenaries and cryptids that could do the work for him. He bore a twisted smile, as though the masked figure had lost his prized artifact of world domineering destruction, he had not yet lost a war – and a great deal of bloodshed had reduced the competition of the enemy from an army to a mere group of stragglers that he could distinguish by hand. Though the younger man couldn't be sure of seeing any lifeless bodies – he had heard the screams. The sounds of firing. The snarling and growling of the cryptids. And he had seen the bloody splatters across the walls, shadows of which were still embossed behind his sleepless eyes, not matter how hard Munya had worked at the stains. He couldn't feel indifferent, no matter how hard he tried to conceal it. Those were humans that had died here that day. Men and women torn up like grass and pushed down into the dark depths of the earth. He had been there, perhaps he might as well have died there, but nothing resonated as deeply within him as those screams did. Was it empathy? Dread? Relief? Whatever he felt, it was likely to do the fact that he was human. Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't tear out his own inner workings. He had no mask to hide behind. He was born this way. Sooner than later he would die this way. No creature could truly escape the nature built within its genes. Seeing a monster perish didn't hold the same sting as seeing the extermination of one's own kind and those cries he had listened to that night were shrill, and filled with fear, pain and anguish. It had ignited something strong deep inside him. The urge to support and help, flowing like warm sunlight through his aching bones. The feeling of warm, golden light was such a rarity to his dull skin that he would give anything to experience that feeling of freedom and independence, and he had felt guilty when he had heard the life being crushed out of the human beings that were fleeing for their lives._

 _He may not have been the only human in the drawing room, but he was the only one that seemed to show fear over this dilemma. Van Rook – who's fear only seemed to exist in failing financial endeavours – carried on the vanguard oblivious and ignorant to the loss of life and the blood shadows inches away from him. He lay half-motionless on one of Argost's rich Corinthian leather seats with his feet up, rolling his eyes and yawning as the group chastised between themselves. That small action of disrespect was something that younger man knew he would have been bludgeoned for doing. Though, his casual, careless aura was appreciated as it put up some fight with the horrible plague gnawing at everybody else. Sometimes he yearned for Van Rook's ability to be solely apathetic and crude, rather than fearless. Was it something that could be gained with age? Maybe. Van Rook was bigger, stronger and older – but he wasn't the only one who had grown. The boy wasn't exactly a boy anymore. He was nearly grown. He was a man. A creature that was feared by the rest of the animal kingdom. Even the fiercest of animals knew that it was unwise to be cornered by man. Though, he didn't feel the power, or the intelligence that came with it. On the outside, unless you looked closer – you'd find it difficult to see the tiny, weak child that he had been. A poor skinny looking creature with no coordination or strength. Over the years, his body had grown around the nutrient deficiency and developed from the training – so he was left with a built physique, with his protruding ribs and collar bones hidden beneath clothing. Though, he didn't look young, he looked aged. Too old for his age – his concave face was sunken slightly and his dull, foggy, barely blue eyes held no joy. On the inside, he was still a boy. The small child deep within him wanted to be as close to any sense of familiarity it could grasp. A draining immaturity that they couldn't beat out of him. That little boy didn't know how he should have asked for comfort, because from what he knew, silence and solitude was better than being thrown to the ground. Looking at Van Rook again, he felt comfort in his presence, even if it was the unhealthiest notion of comfort ever observed._

 _At the other end of the room, Argost was sat at the end of a long table, an elaborate, full course meal laid out in front of him. A feast of the best food money could buy. Several dishes of heaven; a plate of steak, drizzled with caviar and white truffles, a platter of lobster, a serving of crab risotto – all washed down with a glass of fine, French champagne. The smell was even more wonderful than the sight, the scent of fresh food was like a kick to his system every single time. The wonderful sensory experience made his stomach start to snarl, beckoning back the tenacious hunger that chewed at the meagre amount of fat and meat on his own bones. It made his mouth dampen to where he had to resist from drooling like a mangy street dog desperate for scraps. The worst part of the torture was that Argost didn't even eat it all. An amount of food that could have met the gap for satisfying hunger pangs was thrown away carelessly, and that broke him, because when he'd really screw up and there would be nothing left to eat, he would used to have to resort to trying to digest things that weren't food. Items that would pass straight through him or would cause him to be seriously sick. It was how he was kept compliant._

 _There was a break in the low-level chuntering as a soft, bright sound rang out across the room. The young man startled softly, catching his breath on his tongue. Argost had risen from his seat at the very end of the large dining table. Silver sterling fork in one hand. An empty wine glass in the other. The elder cleared his throat, his pale-yellow eyes sifting over the small gathering of people. They rested on him for a moment and he shuddered, bowing his head in obedience to evert himself away from Argost's poisonous gaze. The man had cleared his throat and began to speak with a pseudo French accent, calling upon the room around him._

 _"Alas, my faithful board of supporters, it appears that Munya and I have come to reach a solution." The young man heard Van Rook scoff from somewhere behind him, as the man's raspy voice echoed through him. "We are to withdraw from this feud and allow the scientists to celebrate their short-lived victory."_

 _There was a chorus of audible mumbles and gasps from the small crowd. Grumbles, grunts and sighs from the array of mercenaries, bounty hunters and world-class supervillains. "You have to be joking, right Argost? How much did we waste on that fight just to provide them with an easy reward?" Van Rook questioned aggressively._

 _"Dear Leonidas, didn't your mother ever teach you about patience?" Argost gripped the table and narrowed his eyes at the older mercenary. "Why bother in wasting our breath chasing after them, when we they will be just as happy to reveal the stone to us?"_

 _The mercenary raised a brow._

 _"They will be expecting us to do the predictable and chase after their every movement. We can act like we are licking our wounds, and we can intimidate them with our apparent disinterest. As long as those scientists know I want it, they will want it more. It makes vengeance all that little bit sweeter," he hissed with false sweetness. Argost was never straight forward, the young man knew that by now. He liked to play and toy with his quarrel before springing his plans._

 _"The seven remaining scientists are weak and vulnerable," Van Rook spat distastefully. "You are giving them time to regroup and dispose of the stone."_

 _Munya growled from Argost's side and took a defensive stance, but Argost moved to put a hand on his thick arm, "Tsk, tsk, and we are also giving them time to uncover Kur for us. Let them panic, Leonidas. It will be far more satisfying once we crush their resistance. After that, well, I hope you forgive the cliché, but we will be right on course to rule mankind."_

 _The young man felt another rough shiver course down his spine before he noticed Leonidas leaning over to him to whisper something in his ear. "we should probably leave. The old maniac has a screw loose, no?"_

 _He swallowed. Van Rook wasn't expecting a reply, but if he could have given his mentor a piece of his mind, he would have told him that he would have wanted nothing more than to leave that place. Leonidas wasn't bound to this place by shackles like he was. The chains got longer, but they never went away completely. Each link was twisted about his body, slowly squeezing the life out of him and as hard as he searched, he would never be able to find the key to the lock to free himself. He would never be able to tell Leonidas just how much he wanted him to get him out of there. The infant wanted to curl up against him and wish away his own worries, but the older man's lack of compassion didn't allow it. Leonidas seemed agitated by his younger self. Children were a hinderance and a great annoyance to somebody who wanted to get their money and leave. When he was little, Van Rook had despised him. However, as they had both gotten older, there seemed to be a level of trust and tolerance that had forged between them. Van Rook encouraged his 'apprentice' to converse with him. On a rare occasion, he would manage to briefly purge the frown from his face or make some kind of half-hearted sympathetic noise. Also, the Russian man knew how Argost treated him. He pretended to ignore it, but his apprentice could pick up on the slightest discomfort on Van Rook's face when the man stared at the purple, blotchy handprints on his arms. He never said anything, but he knew. He knew that it was wrong._

 _There had been a few times, now that he was stronger, that he had thought about running away. It would have been difficult, but not impossible. He would be able to get out and get to somewhere where the ground didn't explode beneath his feet. He could make it to the rolling, lonely hills and the sun and the rain and all the wonderful, alive aspects of the world he knew so little about. He may not have been a man of many words, but he had memorised the entire floor plan of the house and if you would have asked him to, he could have shakily drawn it out on paper to prove it. Though, it wasn't escaping that planted the seeds of doubt. It was the fact that Argost was connected to everything about that forsaken world. He had eyes and ears everywhere and that made the young man fear that if he was caught, he would have to pay with his life. If living was like this – the prospect of what death could be like made the young man dread what else could be left to lose. If only it had been that easy._


	6. Bargaining

"Argost!"

Zak felt whole body seize up as the stake of fear piercing his body was twisted and pushed deeper and deeper. Any hope that Argost was gone forever after Antarctica suddenly shrivelled up and died inside his chest. He had condemned himself to this, trying so hard to believe that Argost had died along with the pseudo Kur. The pale, hunchbacked villain landed gracefully on the altar, using his vampiric cape to slow his fall, his feet causing a small thud and a cloud of gritty dust to drift across the dulled bricks. The pasty man looked directly at the eleven-year-old boy and as his yellowed, inhuman eyes met Zak's, the boy stifled a shiver of disgust, like he wanted to curl up and hide. It was something else, because Zak, no matter how much they had faced each other, had never before been frightened of Argost. Even when he had watched weird world as a nine-year-old behind his parents' back, he had found the man to be strange and creepy, but not necessarily terrifying or dangerous. Or even when he was racing through the jungles of Manaus alone, carrying the Kur stone, racing to keep it away from Argost and a pack of starving Tapire Iauaras. However, when that had happened, he had been driven by bravery and a sense of heroism – he had been the boy that was supposed to protect the world from the threat of Kur that Argost could unleash. He was supposed to be the world's saviour; not its end.

His parents had told him that his powers were special. They were a gift, that made him feel like a real superhero as a child. It was Kur that Argost wanted, after all. However, now that it had been uncovered that he was Kur, that bravery was replaced by a cowardice and swelling anxiety. Kur was a monster and not a heroine, at least in humanity's books. No more was Zak an annoyance to Argost – he was an essential piece to the destruction of humanity. He was a weapon. He felt like prey, and his mind was conjuring up all of the horrible things that Argost could potentially do to him to harness that power. His family was being hunted by a madman now. His family was strong and capable. But his brother, his mother, his father, they could only protect him for so long. Argost was insane, a violent, ruthless mastermind. He had heard the stories that his dad had told him, how Argost had destroyed more than half of the membership of the secret scientists during the raid for the Kur stone. Besides, from his own understanding, he knew that enough of humanity was gullible to fall victim to his subliminal preaching through children's media outlets.

The villain made to take a few steps forward, and Zak's family moved to cover him. Doc and Drew unleashed their weapons, pointing swords and gauntlets at the man, whilst Komodo bared his teeth, hissing menacingly. Fisk put his arms around his brother, growling defensively as Zak buried his face into Fisk's soft fur. Argost gave a musical laugh, pacing over to the huge, stone beast. Munya gave a low growl in response to the family's threat, and raised his thick fists, but Argost grabbed them softly with one bony hand and lowered them.

"That'll do, Munya. Some of us prefer to do a business deal with intellect, rather than brute strength."

The family stared at Argost with pure disgust as he smiled, placing his gloved hand on the muzzle of the stone beast. "Spectacular craftmanship really." He ran his bony fingers over the stone, sprinkling dust into the air. "It is incredible the lengths people went to in order to expel fear and wonderfully dark entities." Zak looked closely at the stone statue to try and avoid Argost's greedy eyes. Its eyes were blank and monochromatic, yet it held so much silent fury. It was built in the form of what seemed to be a large serpent, like a Naga. The stone on its body was carved and shaped into fine, symmetrical grooves that represented scales, and its smooth tail was curled around the altar like a whip. Though at the same time, it wasn't a Naga. It had no hind limbs, but it had huge, clawed forearms that rested on the stone basin, holding it shut. Its face was outstretched like a snout, which was modelled open like dark maw, exposing row upon row of sharp teeth. The stone around its neck was finely shaped and crafted into a crown of feathers that adorned its neck like a lion's mane. Kur, or some other cryptid demon of the ancient?

"What do you want, Argost?" Drew hissed, venom in her voice. Argost laughed a raspy chuckle once more.

"there is no need for panic madame, I can assure you that I am merely here to … negotiate."

"You are barely in a position to negotiate Argost," Doc said calmly, "so I suggest that you leave."

"Ah, but I knew I would find you here," Argost rubbed his hands together greedily. "After all, desperation does cause the mind to do radical things."

"What are you talking about, Argost?" Drew snarled, wrapping an arm around her son.

"Dear Saturdays, don't you know? Make the rabbit squeal and the foxes come running."

Fiskerton growled, his fists shaking.

"Ah, isn't this temple a wonder of ingenuity?" Argost held his gloved hands up towards the open ceiling, his fingers cutting through the bright beams of light as though he was mapping the sky. He gave a cruel smile. "It is a wonder that humankind will go to such lengths to ward off evil. Of course, it is a shame that they didn't have the same knowledge of kur as we did. After all, the last embodiment of the great Kur did get usurped into the body of a mockingly immature boy." Zak felt his heart drop down into his stomach. Argost knew. _Argost knew._ Of course, he knew. He _was_ Argost. There wasn't much that he couldn't manipulate or uncover. It was foolish for them to have assumed that Argost had gone forever once he had taken his defeat in Antarctica. He had been in hiding. Waiting in the shadows, licking his wounds. They should have known. He had done exactly that in the past. That is how he had taken the Kur stone in the first place. His parents seemed just as devastated as he did. Zak felt the familiar sensation of being a burden wash over him; his parents had been so careful to hide from Argost. To travel undetectable and only stop to collect supplies in the most remote of places on the globe.

Drew let out an angry cry, the fire sword charging up a huge fireball, before sending it hurtling towards the pale faced villain. Argost calmly reached inside his cape and produced a handful of insects. The released cloud of beetles collided with the ball of fire, creating a fire-cracker explosion of flashes and bangs. Zak covered his eyes to shield himself from the flashes, turning away from the sudden intense heat as a cloud of smoke erupted, coughing.

"Shut your bloodthirsty mouth, Argost!" Drew's shouts were raspy from inhaling the smoke. "And get away from my son!"

The sadistic man held his hands up in defence, "always so brash Mrs Saturday. Munya and I do not wish to fight, we merely wish to…compromise."

"What would we possibly have to compromise with you, Argost?" Doc spat, his power gauntlet glowing aggressively. He stood in front of his wife and kids protectively. Anything Argost had to offer was an offer without authenticity or sincerity. The man had knowledge in their field, but it wasn't clean, especially given his sources. He would have to be at his wits end, and then some, in order to even consider trusting Argost. He was a killer. A killer that wanted to exploit his son. There was no doubt that Argost knew Zak was Kur now. This was it.

"Given some recent unfortunate events, I feel as though it would be honest of me to say that in this match of wits, the ball isn't currently in your court of favour. Therefore, I feel that, as a gracious host, I should offer my hand in this Kur business," Argost tipped his hand. "I still have the majority of the stone, Saturdays. I still have bountiful collections of resources at my disposal. So, I will offer you a deal." His eyes sparkled with malice, "if you will allow me to converse with our young, all powerful Kurling here, I will be able to provide some valid information for a solution to your current ailment."

As soon as he mentioned Zak and met the young man's frightened brown eyes, a fuse ignited within his parents. Parental protectiveness, another word for wrath, as the two scientists sprang forwards to confront the threat.

"Very well. Then you leave me with no other alternative than to use force. Munya, get the boy!"

The mutant henchman snarled, shooting a line of sticky web towards the boy, Zak's eyes going wide with fright. Fisk grabbed his brother, almost sort of tucking him into his safe, fuzzy chest as he rolled over and out of the way, the silk hitting the wall behind them. Zak watched from Fisk's arms as Doc charged Argost, dodging the cloud of Devonian Annelids that Argost tossed into the air. He swung with the power glove, missing by a couple of inches, as Argost grabbed his thicker arms and swung himself out of the radius. Drew shot a blast from the fire sword, which went hurling towards Munya, propelling him towards the wall. The mutated man's huge, rock-like hands scoured through the tiles, grinding him to a stop as he smouldered from the flames. His head jutted to the side, his one sullen red eye narrowing as he shot several jets of silk towards Zak and Fisk. Fiskerton did his best to avoid them, but one web caught in his far foot, sending the both to the floor, Zak rolling out of his grip. For once in his life, Zak stumbled about almost blindly as he tried to get himself out of the thick of the fight. With Doc and Drew busy with Munya and Fisk untying the silk sticking him to the floor – Zak was left to face off against Argost. He pulled out the claw, his eyes softly glowing orange, indicating threat. Argost laughed.

"Must this all end in violence dear boy? After all, you are in dire need of my help."

"What are you talking about, Argost?" Zak gripped the claw tightly.

"You are Kur, my boy. You have suddenly found yourself with powers that are capable of destroying the human race. You must be feeling scared, confused, horrified, perhaps even a little ashamed." Zak looked down defeatedly.

"Though, fear not young Kurling. I have just the solution. V.V Argost's weird world provides a delightful range of cryptids. A selection of beasts with different specialities and abilities to provide a challenge for your powers. Everything a young Kur should need to find his place in the world." Argost held his hand out, as if he was expecting Zak to shake it. Zak shivered with disgust.

"Get away from my son, Argost!" Doc's fist connected with the older man's face, giving a satisfying crunch as part of his mask cracked. Argost tumbled away, wrapping his cape around him to prevent further injury. Doc scooped Zak up in his arms as Munya gave a cry and tried to charge towards them. Fiskerton and Komodo tried to block the charging mutant – Fiskerton grappling with him hand to hand, whilst an invisible Komodo sunk his teeth into the mutant's leg. Using his additional spider arms to remove Fiskerton, he kicked the huge lizard into the air, where he hit one of the nearby walls and became visible again.

"Komodo!"

Drew yelled and jumped into the air, kicking the rest of her weight into the mutant's lower back, causing him to overbalance but not topple. Munya snarled, raising his fists and bringing them down onto the ground, causing a wave of debris and dust from the flooring to shoot across the floor like a wave, that everybody else had to jump to avoid. Argost, who was still on the ground, reached into his cape and pulled out a canister, throwing it to the ground in front of the group. It exploded, releasing a cloud of thick, impenetrable gas that covered everybody. Zak coughed and coughed, his eyes burning and watering as he tried to use his free hand to shield them. He squinted, he couldn't see his dad anywhere. He tried to regain his bearings, he had no idea where his parents were, and neither could he see Argost or Munya. He looked to his left and noticed a large shadow in the distant fog. Was that his dad? He stood up.

"Dad?"

The closer shadow suddenly gained additional limbs and huge, meaty arms, bigger than any normal human limbs. Zak backed away in alarm as Munya lunged forward, grabbing his entire torso with just one of his enormous hands. He was hoisted onto Munya's back and held there with one secure arm. He panicked, pounding on Munya's thick shoulder – to which there was no reaction. The mutant suddenly leapt upwards, propelling the gas around them away and jumping above the cloud. As he looked up, he could see his family down below as Munya landed on one of the walls.

"Zak!"

"No!"

Munya scaled the decrepit walls without a challenge, climbing closer toward the huge gaping hole in the ceiling where the sunlight was pouring in. Zak kept pounding on Munya's shoulder, using the claw to try and fight off Munya's spider arms that were pinning him down. The mutant made a furious leap for the last ledge…

 ** _"_** ** _Eeeeyarrr!"_**

A large shape blotted out the sun as Zon came soaring through the shards of glass, shrieking angrily. Her talons latched onto Munya's shoulders as she furiously started pecking him with her bill in attempt to get the monster to let go of her brother. Munya was now freefalling and had dropped Zak. Fiskerton leapt into the air and managed to catch his brother safely just as Zon's talons slammed Munya into the ground with a bang.

Drew and Doc raced over to Zak just as Fisk placed him on the ground. Drew knelt to hug her boy as Doc faced off against Argost.

"In case you haven't noticed, Argost – we don't want anything to do with your cause. You leave my son out of your manipulative scheming!"

Zak slowly regained his breath, feeling a brief wave of comfort wash over him as his mother hugged him and Komodo wrapped his tail around his leg reassuringly. He would need faith in his family in order to overcome whatever obstacle Argost provided. Argost slowly got to his feet, seeming to lose his composure for a moment as his eyes twitched with rage.

"Then know this boy!" Argost snarled. The ravenous look in his eyes reminded Zak of Antarctica, where Argost had lost all composure and screamed his defeat to the world. It was from there are that Zak had really witnessed first hand just how starved Argost was. It was almost sad how all he had known his whole life was taking and stealing and grabbing for power. Almost. "You can't wield the almighty power of Kur! When the time comes I will crush you and your family like ants underfoot!"

Zak felt himself tremble, though he couldn't see the fear on his parent's faces. His mom raised the fire sword once more and Zak had to shield his eyes as Drew brought it down like a whiplash. The wave of fire swirled over the ground with a loud crack, Munya using a new jet of silk to pull Argost out of the way, just as the sea of flames hit the wall on the other side. The ancient stones grumbled and groaned, trembling as the whole room began to shake. Fisk put his arms over Zak as small chips of rock began to drop from the ceilings. Munya and Argost seemed to disappear, dashing out through the partially open ceiling. Doc guided his family towards the other exit as the pillars holding the walls up began to crumble, the entire temple coming down around them. The family made it out just at time as the giant citadel toppled to the ground. A huge cloud of dust and dirt clods rained down on the trees, shielding Argost and Munya's escape from view. Drew and Zak were coughing, whilst Doc was rubbing the sand from his eyes.

"Well, there goes another mystic temple," Zak sighed. Fisk made a noise of agreement.

"There might be something we can recover. Even if the hieroglyphs are destroyed, maybe we can look into whatever that stone guardian was protecting, I-." Drew tried to console.

Doc rubbed her shoulder. "Its under metres of rubble Drew. Besides, there is no doubt now that Argost is somehow tracking our movements. We need to move somewhere undetectable where he won't be able to get to Zak."

Drew sighed and looked down at her son," Zak honey, I don't want to scare you; but your father is right. If Argost knows that you're Kur, he will try to do everything within his power to take that power for himself."

Zak brushed her hand off, "mom, we've beaten Argost before, we can do it again."

"I know sweetie, but Argost is now desperate for that power and when people get desperate, they become ruthless."  
"What do we do now?"

"We'll have to get back to the airship, we can plot another course from there." Doc said.

Drew gave Zak a hug, "come on boys, lets go."


	7. Level-headed maturity

Greed. Lust. Insatiable thirst. It was somewhat immature, in a way; like a young child begging a parent for the latest toy, throwing a tantrum and stomping his feet over something he could not have. Except, replace a plastic plaything with an ancient evil God of mass destruction and the child with an eccentric megalomaniac millionaire hellbent on ruling mankind. Argost was anything par infantile. He lacked a child's fear, threateningly raking his claws over the desk in frustration and massaging his palms into his ghostly like hair like he had an awful migraine. The fear in the room radiated not from Argost, but from the young man who was crouched at the foot of the few stairs onto the stage, which wasn't set up for the latest episode of weird world, but the makings of an intense expedition instead. Argost raised his head from the sea of maps, compasses, relics and books that were covering the entire surface of the desk in a similar manner to which the stress was obviously blanketing Argost's mind. He stared intently at the young man, who flinched slightly at the eye contact, averting himself from Argost's gaze.

To an outsider, this relationship of servitude would have seemed strange. A man that was no longer scraping adulthood respectfully kneeling before an older, frail gentleman who seemed weakened and hunched with stress. It was more difficult to see the sheen of fearful loyalty in the younger's eyes - his outside appearance suggested the attitude of a brute with his compact, muscular stature and partially shaven head of auburn red hair. For an individual that had been small and meek as a child, the training had developed the young man into the poster child of a punk thug, or a crooked mercenary like his mentor. If he was stood, he could surpass Argost in stature, just. Though, Argost admired the fact that the younger man wasn't a stone copy of his mercenary teacher. He was more sophisticated and elegant, like himself. His arms were clad in ballistics and rounds of ammunition, but body armour was replaced by a sleek, black uniform. Professional and giving little away, like its owner. Attached to the utilities of the uniform was a black, steel mask, emblazoned by a sneer of apathy and two white visors, narrowed in malice. Argost knew that there wasn't much malice in the man, he was a sheep in wolf's clothing. However, Argost knew his little pawn was wiser than his years. Argost wanted a new toy to drive as much fear into the Saturdays as possible.

However, it seemed that chasing the fantasy of world domination and Kur had taken a great toll on Argost's health. So much so that he had taken weeks to recover from the wounds inflicted upon him from the venture to Antarctica. It perplexed the young man beyond frustration. The great and almighty Kur, destroyer of the human race, had turned out to be embodied by an immature, prepubescent eleven-year-old. Not a monster. Not even a cryptid. A child. He had been a child once. A scrawny, clingy, little nose-wiping pest. If this child was anything like he had been, then how could he have been such a threat to Argost? Then again, his mentors hated children with a passion, so he had never seen anyone young enough to be a child face to face for himself.

He occasionally saw children on his few ventures into the outside world with Van Rook. Laughing, rosy-cheeked little children that skipped along merrily, holding the hand of a smiling parent. The lucky ones, he supposed. That made him envy the Kur-boy a little. That child was one of the lucky ones. He himself, as a child, was never in the position to defend himself against mutants and mercenaries singlehandedly. He had been too weak to even lift a finger against Argost and now, somehow, this Kur-child had reduced Argost to a trembling shell of a man that walked with a limp in his gait. His hair seemed whiter than bone and the curl in his back grew greater by every day that passed. Despite Argost's weakened state, his attentive apprentice knew that Argost was desperate and yearning for the blood of his competitors. There was something of the sort within him too, not strong enough to be pure bloodlust. Just frustration, frustration for how long this new, supposedly golden era was supposed to start. He felt more pressured than ever, because he would likely be on the frontline against the Saturdays soon and if they were as ruthless and aggressive as Argost preached, he feared what might happen to him. They chased and dominated his master's every single move and as Argost's inferior, he felt like easy prey to the terrorists to Argost's regime.

It made the young man's mind wander as to how inferior he must have been. Something he had never asked for, but nonetheless, something he had received. He had been _skin and bones._ He had been forsaken from birth, he had no birth parents. He had no notion of family dynamic. He used to be a weakling, _a scrawny little runt._ Nothing to him, not even a name. From what he knew from Argost, the Saturdays were a wealthy, prosperous clan – they did the same thing as Argost. They studied cryptids. They too wanted to find Kur, for what purpose the young man didn't know, but they had always been present in Argost's quests from the beginning, blocking and thwarting his plans to the point where even he had to admit, he was frustrated. He was frustrated at these people, this child, for making things worse for him. The more unsatisfied Argost was, the worse the knock-on effect was for him. He had endured hours of berating and mindless raving about the Saturdays as Argost grew more desperate and aggressive by the day and all he could do was sit and listen as he was spoon-fed this hatred, less he expect backlash.

It frightened him that the Saturdays could initiate this out of character volcanic rage deep within Argost. He knew Argost wasn't above violence, or being manipulative, but it was very rare for him to fly into such an animalistic fit of fury. He was a man of order and finesse, that very rarely lost his pompous, critical façade, even in the event of conflict. Argost was growing more desperate to avoid the Saturdays discovering his loose ends and had been picking off his past investors and quarrels one by one in the past months, to ensure that anything and everything about his history could be snuffed out. Although the young man knew little to nothing about Argost's past and though the Saturdays would be able to coax little out of him, he still had apprehensive suspicions that he was disposable if it meant that Argost could conquer Kur. Argost was willing to kill to gain the keys to the earth.

Then again, The Saturdays were not to be taken lightly. They seemed ruthless. They had infiltrated weird world just months before and he had listened in fear as one man, presumably the Kur-boy's father, had thrown Munya, unconscious, through several walls in screaming hysteria. These people were extremely intent on keeping their son out of Argost's hands. He was partially glad - the boy would need all the protection he could get. Argost wouldn't spare him because he was a child. However, the prospect made him a little envious. He may have been loyal to Argost's cause and would do anything asked of him, but he didn't doubt that if he was on his deathbed, Argost would leave him there. He could try and entertain the notion that his real parents had perhaps died to protect him, but given he was remembering less and less of them, that chance seemed slim. As it was, Argost was what he had, and these Saturdays, they were threatening to rip that apart.

Those interlopers seemed to have their minds schooled on only one opinion on Argost. Argost had always been secretive with his projects with the outside world, in his opinion. He was an actor. A popular actor. He had most of the human race wrapped around his finger – they were captivated by the oddity of the seemingly pleasant and polite man. Man or Creature. Creatures, animals, unusual or imaginary. Distinct from humankind. If that was the definition of being an animal, a creature, he could apply that logic to every individual he knew. Everyone who ever ended up in this mad house were human defects. They didn't belong with the rest of mankind, in their throwaway society. Fugitives, like his mentor and outcasts, like himself. Others, like Argost and Munya, they were freaks to normal human perception. As educated as Argost was with human culture and as well as he could conceal himself, Argost was a recluse and a misanthropist. This only seemed to make the public more prying.

Humans were greedy by nature, set on growth and satisfaction – likely why they had conquered most of the earth. They had a taste for delving into the unknown and this was likely why weird world was so popular and made Argost millions in profits around the globe. He was playing them like puppets on a string, because Argost's merchandise was everywhere. The few times he had gone into a city with Van Rook, whether it be on illegal cryptid business or mercenary training, Argost's influence was everywhere. He had to admit, his master's plan was cunning - the entirety of the planet believed he was purely just a wealthy celebrity with a taste for the exotic. How wrong they were. Nobody knew more than him that he was much more potent than that.

The young man cringed as Argost cleared his throat, forcing him to snap his head up and look at his superior. Argost was stood up from the chair and leaning heavily on the desk. Argost gave him a crooked smile. Although it didn't make him curl up with fear like it did when he was younger, the man still found it hard to face it for more than a few seconds, less his stomach start to churn with disgust. The tension in the atmosphere was still very compacted and thick, like a dense fog of rage. As distant and shallow as the younger appeared to be, he could scrape every last detail off of Argost, just from memory. As such, when it came to anger and rage, he could feel Argost's every movement resonate within him like a sixth sense. He could smell the pungent scent of Argost's desperation and he could taste his insatiable lust for power, even on his own tongue. Now, Argost had just lost again and he had the sneaking suspicion that the man was about to release an even more outrageous scheme. After all, Kur had become everything that Argost ever wanted.

Argost's greed wasn't terrified anymore, but that didn't mean the younger wasn't nervous. As desperate and insignificant as his life already was, he didn't want to die. He was still clinging to life. That was something that Argost had taken pride in before - he, the apprentice, had an insatiable thirst for life. Ever since he had first tasted freedom, it had taken effect like an addictive drug. He furtively yearned for more, gulping for fresh, rich air like a fish flapping helplessly on land. He wanted to drink up the beauty and grace of each drop until it washed over his discomfort like a tide, swallowing it and effectively erasing it in a surf of wonder. Each soft droplet on his tongue was a spectrum of colour and Argost could dangle that in front of his eyes time and time again, and he would always fall in line obediently to his every command, like a starving dog to a bone. As the boy turned man looked at Argost, he saw the same sinking, dangerous thirst in his pale-yellow eyes.

However, it was apparent that it wasn't life that quenched Argost's similarly voracious appetite. Argost was symbolic of the arrogance that he carried, a growing artillery of power that gave him the confidence to believe that he was God's gift. With that, he believed that he had the right to tromp every other being he shared this rapidly developing world with. The solitary man already lived a life in the lap of luxury, with the world's finest cuisine and millions to pay out at his liking. He had attention, an audience that eagerly awaited his expansive, peculiar knowledge. Of all of the luxuries, money and exotic cryptids – it was never enough. He wanted Kur so that he could rule the earth, and every man and beast in it. He wanted to crush resistance with an iron fist. He wanted the whole world to remember his name, to cement the existence of the great V.V. Argost into human history and make them cower with fear. He wanted ancestors to pass his name from generation to generation with dread on their lips. Argost wanted to inspire terror into every man, woman and child and indoctrinate society into believing that they must kneel at his feet, just as the apprentice was doing right now to survive. He wanted the stone loyalty of not just one man, but them all, before they dare to need for anything else. Argost craved it and it was now apparent that Argost couldn't stop wanting power. His want drove him to steal it at every possible chance.

"Stand, my boy. We have plans to fulfil." The redhead felt a shiver nip at his skin as Argost moved closer as he pushed himself off of his knees. "Now," Argost clasped his hands together, rubbing them greedily, "we have some important, new guests to wait for."

The statement sparked the boy's curiosity. 'New' was still something that he wasn't entirely accustomed to. Though the unknown didn't frighten him like it did as a child, it still surprised him from time to time and he couldn't help but stare inquisitively at whatever sparked his interest. This would likely be one of those times of which he dreaded – his awestruck reactions always seemed to involuntarily make Argost frustrated. Argost wanted subtle, he wanted to see apathy.

"Prepared for another master plan to crash and burn, Argost?" The familiar, muffled, gravelly voice of Van Rook became apparent in the room as one of the heavy chamber doors screamed as it crawled open on its hinges, accompanied by the jingling of keys on a ring. Leonidas made his way to the centre of the room, close to his apprentice, moving without much of a sense of urgency. He leant up against one of the carmine red walls and folded his thick arms across his chest. Heavy, laboured footsteps continued as Munya followed behind him, moving to stand next to Argost, elegantly tucking in the armchair where Argost had been sitting.

A deep sigh rattled Argost's composure as he addressed Leonidas. "I had hoped in the past that we would easily be able to obtain Kur without having to utilise brunt efforts. I had envisioned that I could negotiate myself into that power. However, it appears it that our approach was fruitless, and we should use a…different approach."

"The boy's family protects him fiercely. The parents and their little pets won't just surrender him," Leonidas spat, his voice agitated even behind the mask.

"That, Mr Van Rook, is why our next objective is to be a tad more…contentious. It appears that Munya and myself are no longer enough of a tantalising challenge for the boy's family to combat. That is why my intention for this approach is to give them something that they won't expect. And I have hired some new faces to help do just that."

The apprentice subtly raised his brow at Van Rook curiously, who scoffed at Argost. "As if that would deter the Saturday boy."

"Perhaps," Argost drummed his fingers on the desk pensively, "though I will not be present in assisting you all in this mission, our force will act on opposite sides of the same coin. It may take brutish force to distract the parents, but it will take stealth and finesse to extract the Kurling without alerting their suspicions-."

The apprentice listened with keen intent to Argost's words. His words alluded to the fact that they would _all_ be doing this. Not just Argost. Not just himself. The latch on the door clicked once more as a large shadow drifted across the frame. The apprentice stiffened a little, wide-eyed as a huge, brutish man slammed the door aside. At least - he thought it was a man. It towered over him, with a hunched body and enormous fists that greatly outsized its head. Though, it wore 'respectable' clothing; white shirt, black tie, red suit. What doubted categorising him as a human, like himself, was the creature's maw. A metal plate was attached to his face, like armour, obstructing his mouth. However, when it opened its mouth, to the apprentice's surprise, his whole jaw seemed to be altered and mechanised. The jagged steel maw was sutured onto his face like a shield and his few, widespread teeth were jagged and fully saturated in drool as what remained of his lower face was just a void towards the back of his jaws. The strange creature paced towards him, eyes schooled into a hungry glare. The young man knew that look well. The glimmer trembling in those eyes was insanity. He looked up at the lumbering giant without fear but bearing a degree of weariness. The giant was a full foot taller than him, and his icy eyes could just meet those hungry ones without showing any sign of fear. He had become desensitised to the weird and supernatural a long time ago. He had sparred with similar monsters for training. He barely even flinched as the altered man growled and a decently sized chunk of saliva pooled down onto his boot. Just – this creature was a stranger. Argost didn't trust strangers. Therefore, neither did he. His hand just barely hovered above his belt, where he could easily unholster a weapon to defend himself with.

Argost made a distracting noise, "This is Mr Pietro Maltese or 'Piecemeal' as he prefers. He has unfinished business with our Kurling's little Lemurian."

At this point Pietro slurped hungrily and more drool dripped from his mouth like a precarious stream. Van Rook made a disgusted gagging noise. Piecemeal growled and narrowed his eyes.

"If I remember correctly, paying your employees in meat was an unfortunate setback last time, Argost."

"Indeed Leonidas. However, we no longer have use for that Fiskerton phantom. As long as I have Kur you may have whatever pay you desire." Argost was obviously ready to play some wild cards here.

"I only work with competent individuals."

"I'm sure that doesn't apply to the majority of you here."

The apprentice startled softly. That voice wasn't Argost. In fact, that wasn't anyone or anything familiar. He felt something flutter in his chest. There was no growl. No malice. No hate. No distaste. The soft sounds fed into his ears and he supressed the sudden strange soothing in his head. The voice was sophisticated and elegant, but it was cotton soft. It was sweet, like honey, almost to the point of being sickly. Drizzled with confidence and pseudo sincerity. Like a glowing flame. Beautiful, yet fatal if you got too close. Besides, he was cold. Cold and hard like ice and that unbreakable ice in his eyes thawed a little as he caught sight of the woman standing in the doorway.

"You're late, apprentice," Van rook growled. The young man blinked. He knew Van Rook had gotten a second apprentice. He knew that they had betrayed the Saturdays to earn his mentor's respect. However, he didn't know that _she_ was going to be here.

"You're welcome," She fired back without hesitation. His eyes roamed over her as she strode into the room, her heels clacked on the floor as she paced towards Argost with confidence that almost made him jealous.

"Good evening, Madame Grey. I'm glad you could join us," Argost greeted politely.

"My pleasure, Argost."

She was a young woman, younger than her teacher and although she was rather small and thin in stature, she gave off an aura of boldness and deviance that surpassed anything he had seen before. She wore a soft blue jumpsuit, framed by wrists and a waist supporting an array of mercenary firearms. Grenades, wrist blasters, several rounds of ammunition, a pistol mounted to her belt and a few partially concealed knifes that he could spot tucked neatly into the suit. He couldn't read anything more than her behaviour, as her entire face was concealed by a plain, steel, mask like the one he bore on his belt. The smooth, chrome surface of the mask was sleek, and the visors that allowed her to see were narrow and tinted red. Thick locks of curly black hair flowed down her back in waves-.

It was then in his observations that he realised she was looking directly at him. Or, at least her head was turned to face him.

"Who's this?" She asked curiously. She was looking at him. Behind that cold mask she was looking at someone equally as bitter as her. She took a couple of steps closer to him and he froze. Argost followed closely behind.

"Miss Grey, this is my apprentice. I do believe that the two of you have never met prior to this occasion and I suggest that you both make an effort to become acquainted with one another. You will be working very closely together on this job."

"Abbey Grey. Pleased to meet you."

The female mercenary slowly tilted the mask back from her face and then outstretched her hand for him to shake. She was somewhat intrigued when he looked at her hand and then stood staring softly at her face with an emotionless composure without uttering a word, like a child would. Her appearance certainly seemed very appeasing behind that mask - her smooth, pale skin, her angular face framed by her curly black hair. As enticing as she seemed, he could see sparks of roguery in her sharp olive-green eyes. Almost as though that was her goal in this – the thrill. The chance to cause mischief. Before he could continue soaking up her intentions, she broke from her stance and snapped her fingers in front of his face. He startled slightly.

"Do you always stare at women like this, babyface?"

The male apprentice of the two averted his eyes suddenly, feeling a tint of heat rush to his cheeks.

"Splendid," Argost commented. He turned to address them all now.

"As you are all now probably aware, my last attempt at harnessing the abilities of Kur were unsuccessful. It was a…minor setback in a much larger operation, the Saturdays are much more volatile with negotiation than I had expected. It leaves us with no other alternative than to dash in some brute force. I currently have means to track the Saturday airship across the globe and they have no possible way of stopping me."

"There is no way that aerial surveillance wouldn't raise the suspicions of the parents," Van Rook sighed.

"A dogfight, dear Leonidas, will be used to draw their attention, exhaust their resources and fury. Yourself, Munya and dear Piecemeal will be tasked with diverting the attention of the parents in the ship whilst anyone else remaining shall capture my prize and return it to my rightful grasp." The eldest looked closely at the two younger mercenaries.

"To prepare for the coming of what I don't doubt will be a challenge, I warmly invite you to converse with your accomplices, as planning for the operation."

As different parties broke off, he suddenly became aware of how solitary he was here. His eyes quickly flashed over to Van Rook, who was busy in his own debate – he had just barely started to argue with Piecemeal. The other apprentice, Abbey, was no longer breathing down his neck, but he could see her across the room and she was beckoning him over, towards her. He glanced at Argost, who was observing him carefully. He looked at Abbey once more and then back at Argost and with the discomfort gnawing at his mind, he inched his way towards her slowly. He refused to get too close to her, edging from foot to foot like an insecure infant, without the warmth of a parent's side to latch onto. Therefore, it was the woman who closed the space between them, bringing herself closer and sitting down on a chaise lounge almost right next to him. She patted the spot next to him, indicating that she wanted him to sit down. He glanced again at Argost and then continued standing, ignorant of her request. She scoffed and moved closer.

"So," she said, a little breathless, still carrying that sugary voice," Argost's apprentice huh? What's that like?"

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He was trained to withstand an interrogation, but this sudden prying was eating at him. Almost like she was playing with him, toying with him to unlock those secrets he had buried deep. So deep, that he would have to muster incredible strength just to scratch at the surface of the hole he had thrown his fears and worries down into. Even if he could drag them up, it would take more than just the brief summary of stringed together words he was usually capable of to convey any sort of coherent explanation. He found himself just shrugging his shoulders, hoping that she would just lose interest and leave him alone.

"Ah, the silent type," She said softly. Her face was covered by that mask again. He could hear her, but he couldn't watch her reaction. She glanced up at him and he just barely made it noticeable that he was watching her.

She laughed a little. A musical laugh, like chimes in the wind. "It's okay sweetheart, I'm not going to hurt you. You can trust me." He didn't like the syrupy tone to her voice. It was a new experience, this strange, soft coaxing she was doing. He wanted to respond, but he was confused. The words pouring from her mouth were almost a foreign dialect. He didn't understand her intentions, and that was making him paranoid.

Abbey was equally confused. She had never seen anyone respond to her like this. A person, let alone a grown man; trying their best to reject her advances. She had wanted to just familiarise herself with her colleague, but now she was just curious. This man was more like a little boy, an ill-socialised child that shied away from any encouragement. A good mercenary wouldn't let emotions get in the way of the job – perhaps that was his objective? However, a good mercenary wouldn't show that paranoia that she was seeing in his eyes. On entry, he had seemed bold, staring down Piecemeal without backing down in his stance, hands hovering to pull a trigger, or a grenade, if he had needed to. Yet, he felt threatened by a seemingly frailer person? She tugged at her collar a little, this conversation (if she could even call it that) was getting increasingly awkward.

"You're not a mute, are you?" The words settled on his chest. If she made some sort of explanation for his black-sheep behaviour it normalised the situation, but it made him feel guilty. He was creating the wrong impressions, he was all wrong. He was taught to inspire fear, to insinuate terror as emotionlessly as possible. Why was he failing now, after so long? In his spell of anxiety, he looked back at the stage, only to find that Argost was missing. His eyes darted around the room trying to find him, but he soon realised that Argost had left the room.

"Well?"

 **"** **No,"** he blurted suddenly. Abbey was surprised for a second. His voice was deep and harsh, not like the timid child his attitude depicted. Additionally, unlike a child, he didn't sound imbecilic. His tone was clear and refined, sophisticated, even. However, there was still a slight squeak to his voice.

"I didn't think so," Abbey tilted her head. She watched his expression change from nervous to stone cold. She scoffed. "Don't take it personally, babyface. It's not personal. Just money."

So, she wasn't in this for power, like Argost. She was in it for money, like Van Rook. Argost had a bountiful supply of money to give her, there was no reason why she wouldn't take this job – she was a mercenary. Not that he expected her to be here voluntarily. Everyone who ever came here, it was never voluntarily. They wanted something. Or they didn't have a choice.

She shifted her position and looked at him again. "Ever crossed paths with the Saturdays before?" she offered.

He shook his head and gained the confidence to look her in the eye. "You have. You are the one that confounded them."

She paused "I did." His sudden confidence and choice of language left her feeling taken aback on her previous assumptions. She was managing to get this strange man out of his shell.

"Why?"

"Money, darling, that's why."

"Why?"

"What is this, one hundred and one questions?" That coldness had turned to awe and curiosity now, almost as though the two had swapped positions in the encounter. The man was back to acting like a child again, asking her endless questions in an awestruck manner where ever response was returned with 'why?'

She sighed in irritation and then recomposed herself. "I was bored with the life I had sweetie. I wanted money, I wanted thrill. It's as simple as that."

Were the Saturdays really that bad? They had made one of their allies strike out against them, simply because she had no intentions to live their lavish lifestyle?

"What about Kur?" He wondered if the child was everything Argost had made him out to be.

"You mean Zak? He's an average little twerp with parents that believe he is a child prodigy. If Argost wants him, let him have him. It means nothing to me, as long as I get paid."

He had heard some of that. Zak; so that was the boy's name. It made him feel a little more secure, knowing that this was a child with a family, rather than just some conduit for destructive, Godly power.

"Why are you in this?" She asked him.

He paused for a while and Abbey thought he wasn't going to answer, "its classified."

She sighed. She put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Pft, c'mon luv, people in this business only work for two things. Money or vengeance."

Neither of those applied to him. "Not always," he let those words slip through the net catching the hurt.

She looked at him. "Well…whatever reason it is honey, we all work for gain. That's what mercenaries do."

He swallowed nervously. He still didn't know what he would gain from this. However, Abbey seemed to be shedding light on a new attitude, different to that of their teachers. She seemed carefree and rebellious, which lead him to ask, in this day and age of prey and predators, was it beneficial to rebel? Could he survive if he did that? He longed for that attitude, that real, true confidence. Abbey had survived breaking ties from the supposedly brutal Saturdays. He could maybe survive, but after seeing how clueless she had left him, could he really come to sever those lifelong chains?

* * *

 _ **I apologise for how long it took me to update this. There was a lot of foreboding and deep character thoughts and interactions in this chapter that I really wanted to get right and create some interesting development and character parallels, which I would have found hard to do without Ashblackrabbit's so thanks Ashlyn for helping me get through this chapter! As of now we have gotten rid of the italics as we are in present tense and the story will start to get more fast paced asap.**_


	8. Break-in

Zak self-consciously drummed his fingers on the ledge of his window, looking out into the dense scattering of fluffy dark amber clouds whizzing past the airship which cut across the cluttered sky with ease. The dark orange, almost black clouds shrouded the setting sun, painting the sky with soft yellows and oranges that bled into the fading blue. That glowing, mystical shade of orange that manifested itself between the clouds made him feel almost uneasy. That colour, that dazzling hue, it had embossed itself into his memories.

He had loved the colour orange ever since he had been little. It was their family's colour. It had felt like it belonged to the Saturdays. It had felt homely. It had felt like the better times Zak could remember; helping cryptids across the globe with his parents and brothers by his side, not having to worry about Nagas, or appeasing the secret scientists, or the threat from Argost. Y'know, back in the good old days when he _wasn't_ Kur. He had loved wearing that colour – he lived, breathed and dreamed it every day. He had refused to wear anything _other_ than orange when he was little. All of the clothes and birthday gifts his mom, dad and the secret scientists bought him had at least something orange to them. Orange had been safety and security. It had been _Zak's_ colour.

Now that Kur had really been unearthed, Zak felt sickened by that same colour that he used to love so much. The sickly, monstrous amber glow in his eyes – orange was _Kur's_ colour. That colour had been the last thing the humans of old would have seen before the monstrous God came barrelling down upon them with an army of cryptids in town. _Kur_ had killed so many, caused so much pain and destruction, done unspeakable things he would have never even dreamed of and now; he _was_ Kur. Did that make him responsible for all that pain and devastation? He hoped not. He wanted to disassociate himself with Kur as much as possible and that meant leaving Kur's colours behind. He wouldn't have minded if Kur had been a force for good. His parents – although they had good intentions – had made it worse in drilling it into his head that Kur was an evil entity and if it got out; the world would be damned. Argost wanted to use him to get to world domination and the Secret Scientists, although much more reserved in their approach, would neutralise him, Kur, if humanity's safety was ever jeopardised. It was his parents and his siblings protecting him against the rest of the world. A world of seven billion, excluding cryptids, animals and all of the terrible monsters Argost could possibly find and hire – against one pre-teen boy. Just looking at the sunset made him cringe because all he saw was that bloodthirsty wrath that would envelope humanity like it enveloped the empty sky. He exhaled sharply and turned away, wanting to remove himself from every reminder of the harsh reality he was living in. He had not yet fully accepted this reality.

He pulled away from the window and left his room, shutting the door _securely_ behind him. He needed to devote his mind to something other than Kur. He'd go and find his parents. His mom and Dad were in a call with a selection of the secret scientists, reinitiating the threat protocols given that Argost was alive and well – and discussing how they could further drop off the grid to avoid the mercenaries and monsters that were chasing them. The scientists and his Mom and Dad weren't on the best terms, they had reached a stalemate for negotiation and out of Zak and Argost, Argost was better shaping up to become public enemy number one. He walked down the winding halls of the airship towards the bridge, Fisk joining him somewhere along the way. Argost's reappearance had made the Lemurian noticeably more nervous as the Fiskerton Phantom fumbled with his fingers and mumbled incoherently. Zak understood and was sympathetic. Fisk wanted to protect his brother and his family, and he was more worried than ever that Zak would end up in Argost's grasp. After all, months earlier, Fisk had been the one strapped to a table in weird world at the mercy of Argost, he probably didn't want his brother to endure a worse, or similar fate.

"C'mon Fisk, let's see what Mom and Dad are up to," Zak tried to sound light-hearted as the door to the bridge slid open, what was the worst that could happen?

Doc and Drew were seated in their respective places and on the TV screens above them were the different faces of Dr Beeman, Dr Grey and Dr Cheechoo. Upon hearing the sliding doors Drew and Doc turned around to look at their son. Zak swallowed, seeing the faces of the other scientists. Cheechoo seemed his usual cheerful self. Miranda was indifferent, as usual. Arthur Beeman, however, observed the boy with a cold sneer.

"Ah, if it isn't Fuzzy Wuzzy and the Child Prodigy," Beeman commented, pushing his tinted glasses further up his nose snidely. Zak felt uncomfortable, shying away from the screens.

Zak's mother frowned, but she didn't retort. She merely kept calm and restated her proposal.

"This _negotiation,_ Dr Beeman, is about Argost and not my son. Could you redirect that massive amount of brain power onto the task at hand?" She asked without waning in her authoritative tone.

Dr Beeman mumbled under his breath, narrowing his eyes.

"Drew, are you absolutely certain that Argost is alive and a threat to the organisation?" Miranda asked without faltering. She was a very rational woman, not as crude as Arthur but still spoke with an interrogative tone that was unnerving to say the least.

"We fought Argost whilst exploring a protected government site. He tried to take Zak," Doc cut in.

"If you haven't noticed Doc, the secret scientist organisation is about developing new innovations and making decisions based on the whole of the human race and not just your son, who is, may I remind you, Kur," Beeman scowled. Zak felt uncomfortable. Even though Beeman wasn't there with him in person, Zak felt threatened. His parents had managed to create an ultimatum with the secret scientists: as long as Zak didn't threaten the safety of humanity, the secret scientists wouldn't have to intervene. Beeman was one of those who outright refused to agree to the proposal. Zak didn't know what Dr Beeman had against him. Perhaps he was still bearing a grudge from the time Zak had faked a UFO sighting with him? Either way, the patience of the organisation was wearing thin and now that Argost was back, the ice supporting them was only going to become weaker. Zak was worried that they would all fall through.

"If Argost has indeed returned," Miranda cut in, "then I assume you are taking the uttermost care in keeping him away from Zak?"

"We are," Drew said with complete assurance. "What we need, is a secure safehouse to stay in. Argost must be tracking our movements, looking for an opportunity to snatch Zak-."

"Maybe I noticed and didn't care," Beeman said brazenly. Miranda rolled her eyes.

"Their hypothesis is correct, Arthur. If Argost utilises Zak, utilises Kur, then we may be looking at a global war on the horizon. Argost is a criminal mind with no regard for the safety of the public."

"Argost knows of all of the secret scientist headquarters, it would be suicidal to let Franken-hair hunker down at a secret scientist facility."

"Is there any unoccupied facilities that we could perhaps use?"

Beeman was about to reply but Dr Cheechoo cut him off. "Actually Doc, my team and I are currently studying a tectonic Faultline just a mile north of Easter Island. We have a disused base with state of the art security and satellite instalments there that we were hoping to plan research assignments from, but the bunker is underground and currently out of rotation. If it means stopping Argost from getting what he wants, I'm willing to give it up."

Doc smiled graciously, "Thank you for your time, Paul, expect us there in a few hours."

Beeman and Miranda left the call shortly, Beeman without any sort of farewell, not that Zak was expecting Arthur to be well mannered at a time like this.

"Like I'd expect anything less from a Saturday," Paul sounded content, but there was an undertone of worry in his voice, "though you do seem to attract trouble wherever you go."

Zak scratched the back of his head nervously.

"Paul, I can assure that we will be doing everything in our power to prevent Argost from targeting Zak or the secret scientists. You won't regret this," Drew tried to assure him. Paul didn't seem entirely sure, yet he didn't dismiss Drew's word.

"I just hope you're right Drew." The screen faded to static. Doc and Drew looked at one another and then at Zak. Dr Cheechoo was one of the younger scientists, which possibly explained why he was more cheerful and understanding. However, it was apparent that he too was worried about a threat from Argost or Kur and although he wasn't harsh or defensive, he was clearly weary about his decisions and Zak knew that his parents were trying to rebuild that trust with the rest of the scientists.

"Easter Island?" Zak asked hopefully, trying to cut through the thick tension building in the room. His mom turned to him and smiled.

"We do need a vacation after all of this stress," Drew said softly, "maybe it'll be good for us to wind down somewhere quiet."

"I'm not putting it past Argost to follow us there," Doc huffed, folding his arms, "we shouldn't let our guard down."

"I know Honey. But if Argost is somehow tracking us – the secret scientists are the only ones who know where we are going. Besides, it'll give us a good, new cultural experience." At least his Mom was behaving normally, going off on a tangent about history and the experiences that a normal, domestic family should have. "Easter island is a place with rich mystic history – the island's Moai statues have been a mystery for centuries – they were erected far beyond the era when humanity had any of the modern technology used in construction."

Doc scoffed in disbelief but there was a smile creeping onto his face, "that doesn't mean it was magic, Zak. Human ingenuity is a powerful thing. Besides the culture and heritage, the island is supposedly rich with cryptids – we might find something small and docile that we can test your powers on."

"Dad, my powers work fine I don't need anything to test them on," Zak sighed.

Drew ruffled her son's hair, "it's still good to have some practice kiddo, especially if a showdown with Argost is imminent." She saw the prominent frown on Zak's face. "Listen Zak, I promise that we'll get this Kur thing worked out – but Kur or not you've still got us and nothing will ever change that, okay?" Drew leaned down to envelope him a hug and for a brief moment, Zak let his mother's comforting embrace expel the worry in his chest. Though, said moment wasn't built to last, as not even Drew's motherly reassurance could stop his anxiety from skyrocketing as there was a loud BANG! And the airship gave a huge groan, jolting and listing to the side before righting itself. Alarms blared, warning lights bathing the bridge in red light as panic ensued.

Doc raced to the cockpit, quickly bringing up the external camera system, scanning for threats. Zak watched in anticipation as the first few screens on the front and sides came up clear, but when Doc came to look at the cameras positioned towards the back of the ship, the reassurance Drew had given Zak plummeted down the drain as a new wave of anxiety swept over him – the outline of Argost's warplane was clearly visible, peeking out from behind one of the rear engines.

"We're under attack!" Doc shouted as another missile collided with the back of the airship, the alarms blaring even louder, ringing in Zak's ears. Zak clung to the railings desperately as Drew climbed into the other seat. The engines roared as Drew forced the ship into a sharp descent through the clouds, pulling up out of the dive just as Zak noticed the Pacific Ocean appear out of the windows. The ship banked hard left as Zak saw a rocket speed past the ship, barley clipping it. "Shields at 80%, Drew can you shake him off?"

"Not sure Doc, we might have use Komodo's cover or the Griffin – Argost is right behind us."

The sirens were still ringing, and Zak wasn't sure what to do. He clung to Fiskerton whilst watching the cameras desperately, waiting for someone, or something to emerge.

"What in-." Doc was cut off as Argost's warplane banked to the side and sped along the side of the behemoth Zeppelin, appearing ahead of them. Drew slammed on the air breaks as Argost suddenly slowed, only a matter of hundreds of feet away from them and to Zak's horror, three shapes emerged from the top of the warplane. With the level ocean below them, the only escape was the empty sky above as Drew tugged the controls back, lifting the ship to a higher altitude. Argost's ship disappeared from the view of the cameras. Drew and Doc were frantic to search for the plane, scanning the cameras as the airship rose higher and higher into the clouds.

A couple of long, painful seconds passed before there was a metallic thud somewhere above them and an assortation of warning lights starting to flash. Drew flipped to the roof cameras and Zak felt his heart drop down to the pit of his stomach. There were two burly figures crouched on the roof, shredding the panelling on the top of the ship. Zak watched in horror as he watched Piecemeal tear into the electrics with his mechanical jaws, virtually eating a human-sized hole into the circuit boards. The lights in the ship flickered on and off intermittently from the damage and Zak panicked as he watched Munya punch a hole in one of the emergency hatches, shattering the glass and clambering inside. Fisk noticed suit and reacted by sealing the door to the bridge to prevent the mutant from getting in.

"They're in the ship!"

Zak backed away from the door, tightly clutching the claw that was hidden on his belt. Minutes later there was banging on the door and a chorus of growls and snarls could be heard trying to break past the barrier. The ship was put into autopilot as Drew and Doc abandoned their seats and grabbed their weapons and a few others that had been stored in the bridge for emergencies. Though, even watching his parents with their own respective weapons and a pair of cortex disruptors, Zak didn't feel any safer and the door was practically caving inwards from Munya's punches. Zon and Komodo were screeching and hissing as the metal finally crumpled and Munya burst through the doors. The bridge was a tight space – Zak barely had enough room to jump out of the way as Munya's fist slammed into the ground in the centre of the room. His mother brought the firesword down in an aggressive swoop, sending a wave of flames that backed Munya up against the doorway. Piecemeal wasn't far behind, reaching Munya's position and bursting through the flames with a hungry snarl. Doc punched the starving creature in the gut, rocketing him back onto Munya, who shot out a stream of silk that pinned Doc to the wall by his wrist. As Doc tried to free himself, Fisk jumped in front of Zak and held Munya's wrists, preventing him from striking at his parents. Fisk was strong, but Munya was larger and Zak noticed that his brother was slowly starting to sink under the mutant's weight. His mother was equally as occupied, as her firesword collided with Piecemeal's fangs, scattering bright blue sparks from the blade.

Zak watched as Komodo managed to cut Doc free as he turned to help Drew push Piecemeal back. Doc charged his power glove and hit Piecemeal square in the chest, the lumbering giant stumbling a couple of steps back, enough for Komodo to get behind him and cause him to overbalance – sending Piecemeal tumbling over the railings where he hit the glass floor below, causing the whole frame of the bridge to shudder. Munya's head snapped up and he shot a stream of silk onto Fisk's face. Fiskerton screamed and tried to remove it and Munya knocked him out the way, allowing Munya to kick Doc off the main level of the bridge, leaving him dangling from the railings. Zak watched in horror as Munya tried to crush his Dad's hands so that he'd fall down into Piecemeal's jaws. Zak anticipated the move and took out the claw, smashing it across Munya's knuckles. Munya roared furiously and attempted to hit Zak who hadn't been a target in this fight until now. Zon screeched loudly and grabbed one of Munya's spider limbs in her bill, biting down, _hard._ Munya roared, distracted. Doc could hear the clacking of metal as Piecemeal tried to reach his dangling feet from below, like a shark snapping at bait on a string. He looked over his shoulder before lowering himself to kick Piecemeal in the face, using that momentum and his grip on the railings to send himself over them and kick Munya across the jaw. Munya snarled and leapt into a corner of the ceiling as Piecemeal clambered back onto the ledge.

Zak looked back and forth worriedly. Something was going on. Piecemeal and Munya – they'd have been sent by Argost and Zak was all that Argost currently wanted. However, all that these brutes seemed intent on doing was causing damage and fighting with his family members, nobody was trying to grab him. It was _strange._ Zak heard a window smash behind him and instead of seeing Munya or Piecemeal or even Argost, he saw a small cylindrical object soar through the glass and roll into the family's tight group. Drew shouted for everyone to move, to get clear, but the device exploded seconds later. Zak cried out as there was a bright flash of light and a loud boom! A sound like a baton hitting a huge drum and then a cloud of disorientating white smoke that enveloped the whole level. As his senses slowly came back to him and he rubbed his temple, disorientated, he came to realise what it was. It had been a flash grenade. He looked back towards the hole where the grenade had come through the windows as a seemingly perpetual stream of bullets came through the window, shattering the large pane. Still groggy, Zak barely had enough time to duck down next to his Mom to avoid the blasts as the roaring of a jetpack became apparent.

Zak watched in horror as Van Rook soared in through the gaping hole in the window. By now, everyone was back on their feet. Doc, Fisk and Zon were back to back with Drew, Zak and Komodo who were facing Van Rook, who had landed on the edge of the platform. Komodo hissed at the Russian Mercenary and Drew tightened her grip on her sword. Van Rook laughed.

"Playing hard to get are we, Drew?" Van Rook's voice sent chills of disgust down Zak's spine. He had never understood Van Rook's obsession with his mom – adult stuff, he assumed – but Zak knew it was unwanted attention and it quite frankly creeped him out.

"Back off, you maniac!" Drew shouted, charging up a fireball and shooting it at him. Van Rook jumped into the air with his jetpack to avoid the blast, swooping back down and knocking into his Dad who unintentionally pushed him over the railings and down on the glass below. His back hit the glass below hard and he groaned, lying motionless for a moment until he heard the heart stopping sound of delicate cracking and he looked to his left to see sharp cracks snaking across the pane of glass. The glass in the bridge was strong, but it has obviously been weakened by Van Rook's grenades and Piecemeal falling onto it. His Mom looked down at him, horror written all over her face.

"Zak! Honey, stay still!" Zak froze, watching the fight above him, not daring to move. His Dad took up one of the cortex disruptors, firing at Munya who dropped from the ceiling towards the glass floor. Zak reacted quickly and shot the claw upwards, latching onto one of the beams on the ceiling and pulling himself up as the floor shattered, leaving Munya to hang on by one of the steel beams to prevent falling into the ocean below. Zak let go of the ceiling and aimed a kick towards Van Rook's mask, his foot hitting the mercenary's head where he overbalanced and Komodo took the opportunity to dive on him. Piecemeal, now back on his feet, slurped inelegantly and began snapping at Fisk who squealed and twisted out of the way. Doc and Drew had their hands tied, trying to dodge the grenades and rockets Van Rook was firing from his wrist blaster. His mother looked over her shoulder at him.

"Zak, you need to get out of here, get to the saferoom!"

"Wait, no Mom there's too many of them, you need my help!"

"We'll be fine Zak, just go! We're not giving them a chance to take you!"

"But this doesn't make any sense-."

Piecemeal suddenly brought his fist down on his Mom, knocking her to the ground. Zon reacted furiously, flaring her wings and taking Piecemeal in her talons. She beat her wings, forcing him towards another window and smashing him against it, where it caved in and they both dropped from the ship, Zon cawing as she took to the sky.

"Just go Zak!" His dad joined in. Zak swallowed his fear and turned on his heel, running down the dinted and damaged corridor with Komodo following alongside him. He ran deeper into the ship until he couldn't hear the fighting anymore. He kept looking over his shoulder for Van Rook, for Munya, for Piecemeal or even Argost to come racing down the corridor but there was nothing, nothing but eerie silence. Zak slowed down to a walking pace as he started to ponder. What was going on? Argost desperately wanted him because he was Kur, the most powerful cryptid in the world, but back in that fight none of the invaders were furiously intent on a snatch and grab attack like previously when they had targeted him. However, this time, they had been intent on being as loud and destructive as possible upon the ship and its other occupants – nobody was interested in chasing him. It was almost like a diversion.

Zak was now getting towards the other end of the airship with Komodo and he was back at a running pace. He ran past his parents' room and a number of supply closets and then his own, when in the eerie silence of nothing but his own footsteps – he heard the sound of breaking glass. He froze for a second, contemplating if he should investigate. All of Argost's goons were here, all that was left was Argost himself, so was Argost now on the ship with him? After all, the warplane seemed to have disappeared deep into the clouds. He nervously looked over his shoulder after a minute of thought with Komodo right next to him and didn't see anything out of the ordinary, no figure in the hall, but also no broken glass to be the culprit of the noise. Though, as he looked again, he noticed that the door to his room had slid open a crack. Normally, this was no cause for alarm, but in his paranoid state – his mind was racing, these were lockable steel doors, they didn't just open themselves due to the wind and he _knew_ he had shut it on the way out.

He crept closer, his curiosity getting the better of him as he peered through the crack in the opening. His suspicions were confirmed when he noticed that the window had been smashed, however, he couldn't see anyone in his room. He breathed a small sigh of relief and signalled for Komodo to wait as he pushed the door further open and stepped into the room. He felt uncomfortable for sure, his instincts were screaming, but the room seemed to be completely empty. Nothing else had been moved or damaged. He stared more intently at the window, puzzled. It was completely smashed, but all of the glass from the window had was inside the room, lying in shards all over his carpet. That would mean someone, or something had broken the window from the outside. This wasn't something wanting to get out, this was something wanting to get in. Before the realisation could completely hit Zak, he heard a grunt from behind him and before he could react, two thick arms suddenly snatched him up off the ground as he dropped the claw.

Zak squirmed and wriggled, shouting at whoever was holding him to let him go. He tried to pry the arms from his abdomen or kick his captor, but no matter how hard he tried to hit them, this person, this _man_ had a grip like iron. He held the boy in a vice-like hold, gripping him like his life depended on it and didn't make a sound. He was stuck struggling against the man's chest.

"Let me go!" He shouted, kicking the man as hard as he possibly could, but this man was like a stone statue, he didn't react to Zak and he remained completely silent, which Zak found to be sort of intimidating

"Hello Zak."

Zak froze. That voice wasn't this man that was holding him, this was someone else. A sweet, tangy voice, almost like honey – the same voice that used to tell him bedtime stories as a babysitter.

"Abbey?" He squeaked, surprised. As suspected, Abbey walked into his eyeline from behind the man. Zak couldn't see her face, as she was wearing her mercenary mask and as she got closer, he was startled to find that she had a gun in her hand. This shouldn't have surprised him, as Abbey _was_ a mercenary working for Van Rook and all she seemed to care about now was the money. Still, it stung to see somebody that he once considered family, someone he could trust, someone he thought cared about him, holding a weapon to him. He hadn't seen her since that day she had betrayed their family, setting them up to be devoured by a cryptid giant. She seemed nonchalant and she certainly looked well. She also seemed to notice his frightened face and laughed a falsely sweet chuckle, relishing in his paranoia.

"Don't take it personally sweetheart, I'm in it for the money remember?" Her careless, bitter tone made her almost seem like an entirely different person.

"Why are you here, Abbey, what do you want?" Zak asked defensively. She laughed once more, stepping closer.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm here to for you." Zak started to panic, starting to try and writhe out of the man's grip again. "Argost is paying a lot of money for the safe delivery of Kur."

Now Zak felt angry. Angry at her for being so ignorant, for choosing to ignore the devastating chain of events that would occur if Argost got his hands on his powers. There would be mass panic and destruction, armies of brainwashed cryptids in the streets; the ones she loved could get hurt or worse. It made him angry that she didn't consider the repercussions of her actions.

"You're working for Argost."

"I am."

"Do you even know what Argost wants with my powers, Abbey?"

"Of course, I do. I just don't care, Zak."

"Then don't you realise what that means? Argost wants to rule to the world, maybe even destroy it."

"That's none of my concern, Zak," She sighed, "As long as we deliver you alive and I get paid."

Zak started struggling again, scratching at the man's leather gloves desperately. Though the man suddenly relinquished his grip a little and let out a sharp yelp. Zak looked down. Komodo had sunken his teeth into the man's leg. The man hadn't let him go but Komodo had provided enough of a distraction for Zak to break free from the mans grip and scramble out of the room, all the while Abbey was screaming, berating the man that had grabbed him previously.

"After him, you idiot!"

* * *

 ** _This might be the last chapter for a little while but expect an update spree at the end of August. I apologise if the fight scene here is a bit immature and or cringe but its another long chapter so I hope its worth waiting for ^^_**


	9. Morbid curiosity

**I apologise that this took so long to update and this time it actually is my fault because I've had stacks of free time. I've had this chapter half done for a while, just not thinking it was powerful enough for the revelation the chapter is supposed to carry. I had Ashblackrabbit look over it as it was in progress and we both agreed that it was a bit too longwinded with not enough tension and they gave me some much obliged pointers on making the scenes more dynamic. Though its still the longest chapter of them all, I have managed to cut out some of the rambling paragraphs. This chapter should also confirm any suspicions about any unidentified characters.**

 _ **As a warning, about half way through this one, there will be a couple of things worth a mention for a trigger warning. A minor warning for some blood and graphic imagery but there is also hints of past abuse and the last sequence is a hallucination/ an anxiety outburst (or what could be interpreted as PTSD) so trigger warning there. Otherwise please read and enjoy.**_

* * *

" _Heed my words, dear boy!"_

 _A ghostly fist came down upon the table, pale, skeletal knuckles smashing the mahogany table with a bang that roughly jerked him from his drowsy stupor._

" _Look at mankind, look at your parents! They abandoned you, child and I had the decency to salvage you from the ruins when you were very much alone in the world. Don't you think I deserve some r_ _emuneration?"_

 _He_ _ **was**_ _utterly alone in the world. He sat in the chasm that had become his place of amnesty, entirely deafened by the roaring silence and the true emptiness of spiralling walls that towered past the light at the top was jaded red and seemed to soar further away from him the higher his straining frail hope attempted to reach. Perhaps it was time to realise that he would never get out. Dulled walls were decorated with an array of tiny claw marks, peppered with tendrils of blood._ _ **The blood flooded under his fingernails, seeping over into his palms, squeezing between his fingers.**_ _The emptiness would diminish, pilling with howling cold and hungry fear, squeezing his feverish lungs._ _ **Lips were tinged blue, the skin under the eyes sagging with sleepless nights and raw misery.**_ _What remuneration did he need?_

 _ **Kur.**_ _He had finally found it. The remuneration that could set him free._

* * *

He wasn't a child anymore. He was a _man._ Any animal, any lower species, even the largest of predators; they all knew to wisely keep their distance from _man. Man_ was resourceful in the way that beasts just couldn't be and as he was told; that was what made them exceptionally cruel and ingenious. They were perniciously egotistical, bearing sneers of scorn for anything different. Anything like him. Yet, the biggest threat to mankind, was their own selfish greed and morbid curiosity. Curiosity was dangerous. The concept that that had cemented itself into his memory, because it was something that Argost had instilled into his head, even before the prospect of Kur's power clawed its way out of the ground once more. Yet, this unholy presence of destruction had proven a tangible drive for Argost's own curiosity. Argost had always been a _man_ with impeccable manners and taste. He was sly and hungry for power, yet he was always cautious and had a reputation for finesse - Argost thrived to maintain his aristocratic status. However, the temptation of Kur had made his superior careless, and ruthless to take any risk just to clasp that power. He had seen Argost draw towards the tempting energy like a moth to flame, the fire spurring his lust and desperation for the throne over the world. He had watched the insatiable glow of this power draw Argost into this tyranny and now, as he watched the door cautiously slide ajar, he could feel the warm temptation licking his skin like embers as he was bombarded with thoughts and feelings that ground his mind to a near halt. The warning echoed through his head, that he could be reduced to the same lunacy of Argost, but the temptation of freedom searing his bones was far too great to ignore. As far as he was concerned, freedom was about to be in _reaching_ distance, and he was soaking up the bliss of purely being close enough to just brush his fingertips against the prospect of success. He reassured himself that he could do this.

" _Look at mankind, look at your parents!"_

 **He had been trained for his** _ **entire**_ **life for this one prospect.**

 _"They abandoned you, child!"_

 **They deserved it, after all. They had left him starving in this abyss with the monsters, with Argost -** _no_ **Argost had built him back up, made him strong.**

 _"Don't you think I deserve some r_ _emuneration?"_

 **That was the only way he could get it to stop. This boy had drawn the ferocity and desperation out of all of them. He would have to perish if anything was going to change. It would have to be this way.**

 _It would be better this way._

He forcefully swallowed any anxiety he had when this child, this boy that was supposedly the keeper of an ancient, predatory God unsuspectingly walked straight into their trap like prey. He had built this image of Kur in his crowded mind: an enormous God-human that could easily surpass Argost in a fight and he was looking for the traits, the abilities of a cryptid, but with all of his knowledge and experience, this boy seemed like dreadfully normal. Argost had never described this Zak Saturday, the Kur reincarnate, in gruelling detail, so was there anything really cryptic about him? From his position pressed up against the wall beside Abbey, he couldn't see much, but Kur didn't seem anything like the Kur he knew at all. Kur looked average. Kur looked like a healthy, well-to-do poster child. This boy was dark skinned and short and lean, but not to the extent of being emaciated or even underweight. Kur was even dressed in normal clothes, like a completely unsuspecting human.

The notion that this was all that Argost wanted to make him stop his greedy tirade; that was the thing that forced the young man to move and make a mad grab for the unsuspecting boy. He winced, crushing his eyes shut, expecting to be hit with a wave of reeling, Godly power from the boy, but there was nothing. He waited with baited breath, but the blow didn't come. The boy was wriggling and kicking him, fighting more than he would have done at that age, but it was nothing overpowering. He had Kur in his grip, he had the key to Argost's conquest and perhaps the key to freedom in his arms – he wasn't about to let it slip away. He locked his arms together in a vice, almost crushing the boy against his chest. Relief and fear were battling for control within his mind as his anxiety skyrocketed. He was so…wrapped up in his thoughts, so overcome with a strange starving sensation that he couldn't even hear what Abbey was saying to the boy. The boy's sharp kicks and slaps in retaliation weren't even registering anymore because he was holding the being that Argost had made him suffer for. He was ready to let go, to give this accursed child to Argost. He had this sudden authority over a being of power that was a greater threat than Argost. He had control. He had power. He was no longer that weak, incapable boy and a part of his conscious was crying out for him to reach out and grab that power.

Though, as quickly as that powerful mirage had been dangled in front of his face, it dissipated like empty air as he felt a sharp sensation in his lower leg, like teeth digging into him. He only weakened his grip for a moment, but it was enough for the boy to writhe out of his arms and make a break for freedom. He stood motionless for a moment, watching the boy run, and he would have continued, had abbey not started to berate him.

"You idiot!"

He looked at her dumbfounded, eyes wide behind his mask. She looked at him, puzzled, before raising her arms at him.

"Well babyface? Go after him you great stupid git!"

 **Sickening terror washed over him in one quick, foul swoop.**

"You do know that I have no tolerance for failure."

 **His blood ran cold, heart in his throat, guts scrambling to tie themselves in knots.**

"I'm afraid that if you can't meet my expectations, I have many ways of making sure we can see eye to eye once more."

 **He felt sick, he had to get Kur back.**

He had to get Kur back. He scrambled out into the hall, bolting past Abbey. The boy had disappeared from view, but the young man could still hear faint footsteps running down the otherwise silent corridors. This silence was shattered by the roaring of his jetpack as flew down the hallway at a reckless speed. The jet pack was loud and drowned out the sound of the boy's footsteps but he would ultimately catch up to him faster and prevent him from losing Kur to the protective guard of his family.

The boy slammed the door shut behind him just as the man's weight crashed against it, shoulder-first. He heard a sharp click as the door's locking mechanism latched itself across. He raised his foot and kicked the centre of the door, trying to break the wood and force it to cave in. The thick wood groaned and clattered against the frame, but it didn't break. He let out a ragged huff of breath. He could hear heels approaching on the steel floor behind him and just as he pulled back, a concussion grenade rolled past his foot, coming to rest against the door. He tumbled away in shock and shielded his eyes from the shower of splinters as Abbey caught up to him, giving him a light, almost sympathetic pat on the shoulder as she passed.

"Don't exert yourself, sweetie."

He growled under his breath and followed her into what seemed to be an area of living space - the room was cluttered with old furnishings, relics, cabinets, ornaments and the like, all arranged sparsely around the large, open room. He scanned the room for the boy, sure that he would be hiding behind the furniture - children like that were hardly ever quiet, or conspicuous, yet this one seemed to have some wit. Though, the boy wouldn't be able to hide from him forever. The mask obscured his vision to some degree, but he would still be able to spot Kur with ease. The one other exit seemed to be sealed, so could he have really escaped that fast? The loud shattering of ceramic made his string of thoughts snap, as he whipped his head around to find the source. Abbey pointed her wrist blaster at a second vase, seemingly chuckling behind the mask as the bullet shattered it to nothing more than an untidy shrine of shards.

As he watched the furniture crumple from the barrage of gunfire, he reached out and tightly clamped his hand around her other wrist. She turned towards him.

"We need him alive." He said simply, though his demand sounded more like a plea as she scoffed and wrenched her hand out of his grip. He felt fury for Abbey starting to boil in the pit of his stomach. How _Dare_ she treat this so childishly? Didn't she know how imperative it was to bring Kur back _alive?_ She was an individual more than accustomed to playing with people's lives, he realised. She had no care at all.

"Come on out Zak," she ordered, "Give yourself up now and I promise that nobody else will get hurt."

"I'm never surrendering to Argost, Abbey!"

Their heads snapped upwards to the ceiling as the boy and the cryptid leapt down towards them from the rafters.

He watched as Abbey was wrestled to the ground to the Komodo dragon before she had the chance to shoot and his eyes snapped to the boy soaring towards him, this time bearing a weapon. Without much thought, he tucked his head towards his shoulder, the boy's weapon barely skimming past his neck. He spun around to where the boy must have landed and watched as the boy's cryptid pet returned to his side, hissing at the mercenaries. Both aimed their blasters at the cryptid and the boy aimed his staff back at them. Abbey laughed.

"You didn't think you could hide forever, did you, Zak? A boy who can control monsters - a pretty hard secret to keep don't you think?"

The other mercenary watched the boy's expression contort into a façade of shame and then almost guilt as the boy's face fell, his eyes flashing and growing wide with fear. Seeing the boy's anxiety stirred up strong feelings deep within himself, ones that he thought he had forced himself to bury and forget about. For a moment he was almost as furious as Argost had been about the boy in the past. That mirror of himself he had built, full of confidence and strength - it was starting to chip and peel away. This imbecilic boy was making him feel _pity_. Momentary hatred was gushing through his veins at the thought. This boy had so much power, a loving family, a bright future. Unlike this boy, he had grown up with nothing. He was nothing. He was nobody. The lucky ones, like this boy, they had taken everything. There was nothing left for a scruffy urchin of an orphan like him other than the cold embrace of Argost. He was left there because those people had outcasted him. With such a miserable fate as his own, how dare this boy ask for his pity? How could this boy bargain for his mercy?

"I never wanted to be Kur!" The boy snapped as Abbey plucked a knife from her belt and sent it twirling towards him. The boy rolled to the side as the knife was left jutting out of the wall behind him. "I never asked for Argost to come after my family!"

It was getting more challenging to extinguish that pity now, much to his own hatred. This boy seemed to have his own burden, his own reason for being forsaken. His own sob story of a childhood. This child harboured the essence of a monster of old. Those who knew of Kur would either kneel at its feet or rebel against the ravenous God. Cryptids felt obligated to kneel under that power, but it was mankind that would always rebel. This boy seemed to be holding back from embracing that unholy power, unwilling to fill the footfalls of that daunting monster of old. However, society still saw him as a threat worthy of extermination. Argost still saw that power as worthy of exploitation. This boy, could - or would - never escape that. The male mercenary supposed they shared that desolate sinking ship together here: they were both shackled to doomed fates. He knew all too well what would happen to the boy once Argost took him, and he would be exchanging _that_ for his own freedom. Whatever this boy was, or deserved, did he really deserve the kind of dark fate that the mercenary knew was looming?

 **He did. In every other scripture of history, he had been told, Kur had fallen in flame and anguish. He was just repeating history.**

As a child, the estranged man had little recognition of his past; there were few and far scattered memories. Like little glass shards, impossible to put the jagged pieces back into anything remotely decipherable. If he forced those pieces together, there would be consequences. The glass would cut his palms, the traces of blood like the spotting of thoughts and hurt that he couldn't place. He couldn't remember what caused that hurt. However, this boy had all of the pieces intact. This boy had a name, he had a family of his own. Parents and brothers and sisters and friends that would fight tooth and nail with Argost for the boy's right to survive. Therefore, that was the name that all of Argost's assailants knew the boy by, before he inherited the title of Kur, bringer of chaos. The male mercenary knew he hadn't had close to that many enemies as a twelve year old. Zak Saturday had to be something if he had survived that long, unscathed. He would have been wrong if he had protested he wasn't moved by the boy's will to survive.

Though, the Kur-boy's ability to pull a mask over his fear was questionable. Any stranger; nonetheless an expert could tell that the boy was anxious. His eyes were stretched wide as saucers and although he was in refusal of fleeing or surrendering, the bigger mercenary could see that he was starting to bend in response to Abbey's constant taunting. As he watched, he was caught by surprise when he noticed the faint orange sparks dancing and flitting about in the boy's eyes. That was the first sign that this boy was not all he seemed to be, the first sign that he was more than human. That mesmerising orange iridescence was cryptic.

Those sparks had become a glow, a haunting glow was leeching from the boy's frightened eyes, the light ghosting across his cheekbones. Bright orange, a warning. Despite all of Van Rook's training, his teacher hadn't been able to integrate him into society as well as Argost had hoped. He didn't fully understand people. Yet, he had grown up with cryptids. That fiery glow was a warning and he had never found fire to be particularly inviting. Its warm glow wasn't homely, wasn't inviting. That colour belonged to those devastating flames. Fire could take lives, fire could burn a world to ashes, fire could torture. He wasn't fearful of fire, but he was fearful of the consequences and scars it brought with it. When he looked at that boy, he could feel those amber flames licking at his skin once more, fear prodding him like a fire poker brandished against his paper thin body. That colour was malicious. It was danger in its rawest form. The boy was using it to cast him back. Abbey clearly wasn't afraid though, she carried herself with her usual bravado as she harrowed the boy, seemingly more prepared than he was. Years of training would be wasted if he didn't do something to help her soon.

 **He would be worthless. He had clawed his way out of the hell mankind had left him in and now this child was pushing him back in.**

Besides, He was insignificant. He couldn't change the boy's fate. Zak Saturday was a stranger to him, just like everybody else in this world. He _wasn't_ attached to anyone, much less a _stranger. He could do this_ and he could finally make Argost contented. He could cut the chains and just _go._ He could go wherever he wanted, not just where they wanted him. He reached out and roughly gripped the boy's wrist tightly in his larger palm whilst Abbey had him distracted. She fired rounds near the Komodo Dragon as he tried to drag the child towards the window. The boy clawed at the older man's wrist in an effort to get away, but his grip remained firm. Freedom wouldn't be slipping out if his hands again. He didn't want to let it go this time. There was a crash against the sealed door on the other side of the room, but he ignored it, shattering the window with his wrist blaster. There was another, but he ignored it once more as he pulled the squirming boy up under one of his arms.

The door burst open with a shriek and the mercenary finally turned to look. Van Rook came crashing through the open door, wrestling with another one of the Saturday's pets. The giant furred ape was more than a match for Van Rook's strength and despite his sheer size, the lanky, gorilla-like cryptid was at least seven feet tall and towering over his teacher. The cryptid grabbed the Russian by the arm and swung him in the other direction. He hit the wall and slumped down. The beast's beady red eyes zeroed in on him and the prisoner in his arms.

"Fisk!" The young boy shouted, clawing at the young man's arm in an effort to escape. The cryptid snarled and leapt onto them, sending the three tumbling down onto the carpet. The young man grunted, venom seeping from his voice. The huge ape kicked him in the chest, hard, forcing the wind out of him and delivering a momentary jolt. He watched as Abbey reached for four charges on her belt, plucking them and hurling them towards the struggling cryptid with force. The air around the group brightened with intense flashes, squealing bangs and noxious gas as the charges exploded. His ears were ringing and the boy tucked against his chest was coughing. "Fisk!" The boy shouted voice hoarse from the smog "let me go!"

The cryptid lay on the floor, incapacitated but not gravely injured. He watched Abbey tuck her gun back into her belt, seemingly satisfied. A third figure was stomping through the smoke, coughing into his arm. "Those charges are coming out of your pay, apprentice!"

"So you would rather me let the big monkey incapacitate you both?" Abbey said casually.

While Van Rooks presence made the tension soften a little, nothing could be done to ease the tetchy terror in his system. He waved some of the smoke away. "Not so tough now, eh little Saturday boy?"

 **He should take off now, while he still could.**

"Get away from my son!"

"Mom! Dad!"

Van Rook sneered, "Oh look, here come Mommy and Daddy to the rescue!"

The younger mercenary glared at the other family members who had entered the room with a stone-faced expression behind his plain mask. He locked eyes with the man who was presumably the father of the boy he held captive in his arms. The opposing man's glare seemed as hard as iron, one eye as harsh as it was dark and the other, a blind white. He was dark skinned and had a strong build that could rival that of the young man's mercenary teacher. The boy's mother was much smaller than the man, with pale skin, eyes and hair, yet her eyes were blazing with white-hot rage. She reached over her shoulder, revealing a sword tucked in a scabbard slung over her shoulder.

"Back off, Van Rook!" the woman snarled. He watched, astonished as a whirl of fire burst from the sword and brushed past Van Rook.

Van Rook could only laugh, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smirk, "I love it when you talk tough Drew." It seemed as though Van Rook had past infatuations with this woman, Drew. Repulsive.

The boy's parents charged forwards after Van Rook and Abbey, the father sending his fist into a right uppercut that smashed into Van Rook's jaw. The younger mercenary heard his mentor's teeth clack together, followed by a thud as his back hit the ground. Abbey pulled out a ray gun and began firing at Drew, the boy's mother, who ducked behind one of the ruined chairs. The boy's father was charging towards him. He fled to the window, flicking on his jetpack.

"No!"

"Zak!"

"Keeyarrr!"

In the instance of the loud screeching, his eyes flashed upwards to a dark shadow that blotted out the sun. A pair of talons hit him in the chest, knocking him backwards onto the ground, forcing the boy out of his grip. He scrambled to grab the talons that were digging into his shoulders, using his arm plate to shield his face from the cryptid's sharp bill. He forced the prehistoric cryptid off of him and rolled into the path of the boy's father. He swung his leg out, knocking the larger man off of his feet. He staggered up, his spine tingling in worry as he watched the boy, Zak, _Kur,_ run over to the fallen ape cryptid, trying to shake it awake. A large fist hit him in the gut and he staggered over, coming face to face with the cold eyes of the boy's father.

"New apprentices Van Rook?" The man asked, roughly shoving him away and moving back towards the son and mother as Abbey and Van Rook regrouped beside him.

Abbey laughed softly, "Old and new. So Drew, Doc, I'm assuming things aren't going well for us."

"Not since you started working for Argost," the woman, Drew snapped, pulling her son closer to her.

 **He was a coward. He should have had the courage to take the boy right out of their arms.**

"I thought so," Abbey sighed, palming a concussion grenade. She threw it towards the woman without hesitation, who used the blade of her sword to deflect it, creating a larger explosion. Abbey and Van Rook moved forwards into the barrier the parents had formed around their son. He felt obliged to follow.

 **He couldn't fail, after all.**

He could see the boy through the fog and he reached out, his hand crumpling the back of the young boy's shirt.

 **He could _die_ for this. **

"Get away, from my son." The woman's voice was a controlled, explosive calm as he felt the blade of a sword brush past his ribs. He turned and felt the woman's knee digging into his gut. He cringed, exhaling painfully in ragged bursts as he curled over, his palm squeezing the boy's shoulder as he stumbled back. Then, what he could only assume to be the woman's foot smashed into his head with enough force to send him tumbling to the left, down on one knee, barely keeping a hold of the boy. Again, the foot connected with the side of his head and he heard a sickening _crack_ of what he assumed to be the helmet starting to split at the seam. The pain wasn't overbearing, but the repetitive blows were sporadic and heavy, leaving him disorientated and unable to move to dodge the hits. He felt the soft fabric of the boy's shirt slip right through his fingers as he fell onto his knees. Again, this time the boot clipping his chin. Head violently jolting back, teeth clamping down on his tongue, piercing it. His head slammed into the ground seconds later and the faceplate _shattered._

 **He probably _was_ going to die for this. **

He spluttered out the remainder of the air in his lungs, blood and spittle glistening on the edge of his lips. He rolled over, onto one of his elbows, his stomach groaning as several thoughts and the blind lights rushed through his head, clawing their way to the surface, squeezing his head tight like a vice. The static noise hummed in his eardrums as he tried to squint through the remaining distortion left from the blows to the head. He felt a hand squeeze his wrist as diluted blood dribbled down his cheek. He drowsily turned his head to the side as the tip of the blade was forced under his chin. His eyes flicked to the side and he squinted up at the blurry outline of the woman above him. He forced a scowl onto his face, but he could barely keep himself from retching as it was. He felt extremely faint and he was clinging onto reality by a narrow thread, so it took a moment for him to realise once again that here he was; he was at the mercy of the brutal family that could bring his master to the verge of insanity. In that defenceless, concussed state, he was expecting another blow to the face, or the blade to start cutting his throat.

 **He wasn't frightened of death, never had been. With the contorted reality he was experiencing, he was almost indifferent to the prospect.**

What he wasn't expecting, was the sound the sword clattering to the floor as the grip on his arm softened. His head lolled upwards and he found the woman's face. The tearing pain in his head was intensifying and the feeling of dazed weightlessness was greatening, but it seemed as though everything was becoming _clearer._ Then, with this dazed enlightenment, came gripping terror as he realised where he was and in his incapacitated state, he didn't even try to dispute it - he was back on that mountain, tumbling through the mind-numbing, torturous cold, thrust back into the relentless winds that scoured out the skin on his meek face. He was looking straight at the woman yet he couldn't see her. _There was someone else in her place._ There was a little girl whom he had never seen before; hair as white as the snow around them with terrified eyes. He was _more than alive_ , he staring into those concerned blue eyes, feeling that soft yet firm grip on his wrist - he could feel his mind beginning to unravel. Things seemed to snap into place as he became inexplicably terrified. Not just of the cold and raging storm, but _of losing this girl._ His head was being hacked into pieces. _Why. Why. Why did he want to protect her? Why was he so scared for someone he didn't know?_

 _ **The winds whipped up a storm around them, pelting them with snow.**_

She reached out to him, her small, pale fingers intertwining with his even smaller ones. The little girl was screaming, tucking her head into her pink duffel coat, eyes pleading for him to hold on. Tears brimmed on the edges of her eyes, streaming down her face as she continued to scream. Hold on. He squeezed as hard as he could, because he was terrified to lose her, even if he didn't know _why._

 _ **He couldn't. The winds were too strong; they were being ripped apart.**_

Her fingers slipped through his and the girl disappeared into the blizzard as he was sent tumbling, falling, being carried by the wind. He felt bones and skin cave in like glass as his body hit rocks, hit thick blocks of ice as he rolled. He scrabbled with his fingers, trying to find something to latch onto.

 _ **His fingers trembled, burning, the tips going from healthy pink, to ugly purple, to charred black, rotting.**_

He couldn't be heard, couldn't be seen, he was just freefalling into an endless chasm of snow. He skidded off the edge of a ledge, landing in a thick burrow of snow.

 _ **The snow piled on top of him like the empty air. He couldn't breathe, he was buried in terror, he was suffocating, his lungs too full to even draw a breath.**_

He was clawing desperately at the ice, trying to climb out, trying to find something warm to latch onto.

 _ **His head was pounding as blood and burning vomit started to collect at the corners of his mouth.**_

Everything was fading, contorting.

 **Bloodcurdling screams merged with the shrieking wind.**

Then there was one word, syllable, name.

 _Doyle?_


	10. Recuperation

Zak slowly removed his face from the safety of Fisk's soft, fur. The room around them was in disarray. The previously cream carpet was now peppered with scuffs and scorch marks, furniture and relics lay smashed into smouldering chunks, there were evident cracks and dents in the walls and the floor was littered with shards from the broken windows. The restless winds pouring through the jagged panes of glass picked up and scattered the cinders of the fight around them. Zak watched his mother, who was sitting in the centre of the ruins, seemingly aghast. Zak peered around Fisk anxiously, grinding his teeth into his lower lip.

It was one thing to see his mother so utterly indifferent, but the fearful expression plastered onto her face was inconceivable. That worried the preteen boy; the spirit of his mom's usual personality was a rare one. He was thankful for her ability to remain indifferent to the majority of challenges that her hectic life had hurled at her and whether it was down to 'motherly senses' or not, Drew was steadfast in her beliefs that she could make the best of the direst of situations, keep morality high and most importantly - keep her family safe.

Now, now she seemed badly shaken by the fight that had erupted in front of their eyes. Zak was worried - she had been fighting off Van Rook one moment and the next; she was on her knees with her sword lowered, staring at Van Rook's apprentice with wide eyes as the man had collected himself and fled, with Van Rook and Abbey following him, having been beaten by the cryptids and his dad. They had left the airship battered and smoking as it rumbled through the sky, the family bombarded by nothing but the empty silence and harsh air. Zak paced over to his mother cautiously, twirling the hem of his shirt between his fingers nervously. He stood footfalls away before he called out.

"Mom?"

She didn't answer the first time, continuing to stare off into the distant, furious clouds that were brewing on the horizon.

"Mom?"

She was still in a worried stupor when she turned to face him, her shoulders slouched disappointedly, a faint mist in her saddened eyes, almost like residual tears. Zak chased the unwanted notion out of his mind. It was one thing to see his mother so vulnerable, but tears were on an entirely different platform. She blinked, clearing the glistening residue in an instant as she rubbed the back of her sleeve along her cheek.

"Are you okay?"

Her lips gradually twitched upwards as her face curled into a soft, reassuring smile. "I'm fine, honey."

Zak watched as his dad slowly paced over to them, a look of concern on his features, worry flashing in his one functional eye. He put a firm, yet comforting hand on Drew's smaller shoulder, gently pulling her into an embrace that she gladly accepted. He wrapped a protective arm around her back and stroked her hair softly. She sighed, seemingly more relaxed. After a few seconds, Doc moved to hold her at arms' length. He cupped her face in his left hand, brushing his thumb over her pale cheek.

"Drew, whatever you saw..." he started but paused when he noticed the distant look in her eyes. Zak shuffled past them to stand between Fisk and Komodo, patting the giant lizard's head to ease his anxiety. "I'm sure we can find some explanation-."

"There is _no_ explanation for this, Doc," Drew said slowly. Doc pressed a reassuring kiss to her forehead.

"There is a rational explanation for everything, Drew, I promise." Zak frowned, but it didn't seem as though this was one of their usual heated debates about rationality against magic. In fact, Zak had a sour suspicion that his Dad was only suggesting his own point of view to distract her from whatever had caused her to get so distraught. Drew sighed and dropped her gaze as a few seconds of silence ensued and when his dad finally did speak up, he asked what Zak was hoping to hear the answer to. "What did you see?"

Drew inhaled a shaky breath and rubbed her arm, as though, for once in her life, she didn't have a confident answer. She was silent for a few moments, as though lost in deep thought. Then he moved across the room slowly, moving to sit down on the half of the sofa that hadn't been destroyed in the firefight, like she was afraid that her legs might give out on her. Zak watched as his father stayed close beside her, close enough to give her support, but not close enough to appear to be interrogative. Zak plopped down on the sofa next to her, giving her a soft smile. Usually when she knew he was safe and sound, she found the strength to be equally as happy, but right now, Zak was wracking his mind over what he could possibly do to raise her spirits.

"I know it doesn't make sense but," She paused again, looking up at them. "When Van Rook's apprentice's mask came off..." she shuddered softly. "I don't know why and I can't explain it but when that mask came off," her eyes darted down to the floor again as she scuffed her boots on the tattered carpet, "it was like I was looking at my Dad's face again."

Zak watched as his Dad's face immediately changed from perplexed to sympathetic as he squeezed into the space between mother and son, wrapping an arm around her. "I'm sorry," he apologised, "I know how much you miss your family."

Zak sighed softly and looked up at Fiskerton who seemed equally as confused; this was and always had been a difficult situation for his Mom to talk about. She had been raised by a group of Tibetan monks after she had lost both of her parents and her little brother in a freak accident in the Himalayas when she was seven. Zak felt uncomfortable with bringing up the topic around his mother, he knew little about the raging storm that had claimed the lives of his grandparents and uncle all those years ago and Drew still dearly missed them, which made it all the more painful to realise that this encounter would have been all the more painful for her. After all, she had been younger than him when she had lost her own parents and though he was nearly twice that age, he still couldn't imagine life without his parents or losing them in such a terrible accident. From the details he did know, his grandparents had died when a snowstorm tore their family apart, but they had never found his Mom's little brother. She had searched for him for years but had to eventually accept that he may have never survived the accident. Drew sighed. Doc rubbed her shoulder as Fiskerton whimpered softly.

After a while, Doc spoke up, "Drew I know how hard this is, but it might just be a coincidence. That couldn't have been your father." He patted her arm softly, trying to enforce the analogy that this was just a coincidence and not a long-lost family member trying to take their son away. "That wouldn't be possible. Besides, I'm sure your father cared for you as much as you cared for him; I'm sure he would have loved Zak if he had ever gotten the chance to meet him."

Drew smiled softly, yet the expression still seemed bitter as she wrapped her arm around her Husband's waist. "I know, I think I'm just a little shocked, that's all. But that isn't what worries me."

"Then what is it?" Doc asked softly. Drew left her eyes half-lidded, like her mind was drifting off elsewhere.

* * *

 _"_ _Drew? Keh-rang ku-su de-bo yin-peh?"_

 _The man spoke in broken, minimal English interlaced with Tibetan, addressing the young girl situated in the centre of the temple. This huge, open hall was typically used as a prayer room, with the archways encrusted with rich, vibrant patterns, carved neatly out of wood and tile. The looming walls were with painted with bright colours and designs – lush, green misty hills, blazing yellow suns, and shimmering streams. The beams holding the roof aloft were covered with bright jewels and gold inscriptions, twisting up to the ceiling which was covered in glass patterns of blooming flowers that projected a kaleidoscope of colour down onto the pale girl. Rich coloured silks hung from segregated corners of the room, flapping gently in the soft breeze that seeped through the glass in the tiles and snaked down to the floor. The girl turned to look at the elderly man, wrapping the worn shawl tighter around her shoulders. She had pale skin as though she had been covered by a layer of frost, and her ivory white hair – it was as pale as the snow peppering the barren ground outside. However, her cheeks were full and the colour of flourishing pink and her sheepish smile gracing her lips could thaw even the most stubborn of winters. Her soft blue eyes were aware and attentive, sparkling with a youthful shimmer, like sun filtering through a rich blue sky. They held the promise of determination and ambition, the dreams of somebody yearning to know how they could fit into the world._

 _The small girl was sat on the steps on the central shine, her smaller form overshadowed by the much larger golden statue that sat crossed-legged on the top step. She had an array of old parchment and stained papers laid out around of her in a broken circle as she sifted through the different documents. The elderly man peered over her shoulder, looking at the ancient documents that the girl was studying vigorously. Maps. Newspaper articles. Historic archives. Anything that she could have plucked from the timeless archive rooms of the temple. The old monk knew that the majority of the articles were in Tibetan or Mandarin, but that didn't seem to hinder the young girl in her studying. Her keen, bright eyes drifted over the maps carefully, looking over the sharp, inked peaks drawn onto the worn parchment. He looked at the rough landmarks, drafted out in a dialect foreign to the young girl. The girl peered over her shoulder, looking up at the older man._

 _"Oh, I was just looking for the campsite on the maps," the little girl said softly, "maybe if I can find it, I can know where Mom, Dad and Doyle might have gone."_

 _The elderly man shook his head slowly, looking down at the eight-year-old with sympathy shining in his wizened eyes. "Gong-da, Drew. Your parents. Your brother. Nga lak sung."_

 _"What do you mean?" The young girl asked, worry shining in her soft blue eyes._

 _"They are gone."_

 _The young girl frowned for a moment, but the expression was soon replaced by a stubborn scowl. "No," she whispered softly. "They haven't found Doyle yet and he gets really scared when he's by himself. I need to find him."_

 _"Forgive us, child."_

 _"Doyle isn't dead, he's just lost. He is hiding. He needs me, so I have to find him," she looked up at the monk hopefully. "I know he is looking for me, too."_

 _The monk looked down at her again and sighed before slowly shuffling away. The young girl turned away and gazed up into the empty eyes of the statue shining in the light of the afternoon, looking to the skies and the Gods for guidance._

* * *

"They never found my brother," Drew blurted suddenly, apparently out of her thoughtful stupor. "The Tibetan monks who took me in, the emergency services, search and rescue and the orphanages – they all tried to find him. They never found any…remains," she said softly, "so I always hoped that we had just missed each other. And now I'm worried that if he did end up in the foster system, he could have gotten involved with the wrong crowd, which could have lead him to Van Rook or _Argost."_

"You don't know that for sure. Drew, I hate to tell you this, but the chances of a young child surviving a blizzard in the Himalayas, alone…" Doc faltered. Zak watched his mother aim a doubtful frown his father's way.

"There could have somebody who found him Doc," Drew said defensively, "someone without good intentions like the monks that took me in. Doyle looked so much like our Dad when we were young and now – it's like looking at a photo of my Dad from when they first had me. I'm not certain, Doc, but I need to know for sure if Van Rook's apprentice knows about my family."

Doc sighed. "Alright, but we can't be as reckless as to chase after Argost right now, the airship is damaged and we need to contact Dr. Cheechoo once we reach Easter Island for repairs."

Drew seemed disappointed, but accepted the proposition as she stood back up silently and started to walk back towards the bridge of the ship, with her husband following close behind her. Zak stayed behind as he watched the doors close, looking over at Fisk, Komodo and Zon. Zon and Komodo seemed indifferent as usual, but Fisk seemed nervous, his red eyes wide with worry. Zak took the cryptid's large hand in his hand to reassure him.

"I'm sure Mom will be okay Fisk."

Fisk babbled something to him softly, as though he was still trying to be inconspicuous about addressing his adoptive parents' dilemma.

"I don't know if Van Rook's apprentice is my _uncle,_ Fisk. Mom seems to think so, but Dad isn't that sure. I mean, I've never seen that apprentice fight for Argost before. This just…doesn't make any sense. I mean, why would Mom's brother work for Argost and not know that Mom was his sister?" Zak wasn't expecting an answer and Fisk just shrugged his shoulders in defeat. Surely if Van Rook's apprentice was his Uncle, he wouldn't have wanted to see harm come to his nephew, right? No, this man had wanted to give him to Argost and he had attacked his cryptid siblings without mercy. This man probably just wanted money, rather than what could have been his own family, just like Abbey had when she had betrayed them and left the group of scientists to join Van Rook. He couldn't even piece together what his potential uncle looked like in his head either - he had only gotten a brief glimpse of his face before he had stumbled away and he hadn't uttered a single word throughout the entire encounter. Zak scuffed his feet on the scorched carpet. He could only feel bad for his mother, as this man seemed to want nothing more than to trade him to Argost for whatever mercenary bounty he was after.

Zak scuffed his feet along the scorched carpet with a sigh, the anxiety mounting in his chest. He wished he could have gone back to the days when his biggest concern was getting caught watching weird world by his parents. Things had changed so much since in six months, he had been forced to grow up so fast... he pushed himself up off the sofa and began trailing towards the bridge, with the cryptids following close behind him. Fisk was at his side, whimpering softly. The nervous cryptid held his brother's small hand in his own furred palm. Zak tried to swallow his worry as he peered around the crumpled door to the bridge.

There had been extensive damage – that which he could tell. There were huge cracks and indents in the walls and doors, the computer units were alike with sparks and wisps of smoke, and the majority of the windows were smashed. His mother was busy trying to reroute and salvage what she could from the computer system and his father was busy boarding up and welding the most vulnerable areas on the platform. His mother noticed them standing there and gave them her best reassuring smile.

"Hey, boys."

"Hey Mom, how long have we got before we reach Dr. Cheechoo?"

"Our ETA should be around 2.5 hours," Doc responded, not looking up from his work. "Slower than we would have hoped given that the ship has been badly damaged. We will need to get the radio working so that we can radio Dr. Cheechoo ahead of time and inform him that we need refuels and repairs."

"And once we get there, we can take a breather – maybe figure out how Argost was tracking us in the first place," Drew said.

"So, like a mini vacation?" Zak asked, trying to break the fragile ice forming in the room. He wrapped his arms over his chest protectively as a shiver passed over him. The sky outside was now a much darker, almost indigo, with faint traces of light dipping below the horizon.

"I wish we could have time to stop and take in the historic culture, Zak, but we need to be on guard 24/7. Argost has found our rest stops before, he is very capable of ambushing us again," Drew sighed.

Zak rubbed his arms, he was too anxious and restless to sleep, so he could only wait for his parents to finish any demanding repairs and radio Dr. Cheechoo to allow him to prepare for their arrival. They touched down on a delayed schedule, by the time of which – Zak was ready to collapse and sleep in Zak's arms. Dr. Cheechoo had begrudgingly given the accommodation at the research station, Zak's parents had claimed it was too unsafe to live in, and there was the risk of the sip being broken into during the night by some _unwanted guests._ Dr. Cheechoo seemed to carry his usual, uplifting demeanour as he welcomed them, but Zak noticed an unnerving undertone to his voice, like the geologist was nervous and very cautious about his guests. Zak supposed the Canadian was half expecting to have a run in with the _all-powerful, malicious Kur,_ as that seemed to be what a lot of the secret scientists were afraid of, so much so that most of them had refused to do anything to help the family and preferred to wait like vultures in the shadows until Zak made a mistake and brought the _downfall of humanity._

* * *

The research base, Zak found, was located on the west side of the island, half hidden from view by a nearby crater, made from a volcano that formed the island centuries ago and half buried underground, hidden within the core of the island. Of course, he wasn't permitted to go far, especially with the threat from Argost and Dr. Cheechoo's already thin trust in them, but Fisk's begging had persuaded him to at least take a chance at looking around the island. Anything was a welcome distraction from the paranoia of being an evil cryptid God and besides, the ship wouldn't be ready to fly again for at least five days. The control systems were damaged, and limited to non-essential functions. They had managed to nag Drew into letting them go, even if she insisted on coming whilst Doc and Cheechoo's men worked on repairing the ship.

However, Zak noticed that his mother wasn't as keen as usual. She would typically be gushing about heritage and culture by now, but instead she was driving the DRV - one of the only vehicles not damaged during the ambush - across the plains with only a melancholic expression, occasionally peering at her son in the mirror. Zak supposed yesterday was on her mind; she was thinking about the long lost brother that she shared her childhood with. It likely weighed heavy on her mind and just like himself, she was using this trip to push the revelation to the back of her mind. The car hit a jolt in the in the road and he shook in his seat as Fiskerton squeaked in surprise. Drew remained stone faced, her eyes hard like thick crystals of ice, unrelenting and harsh. The vehicle kicked up dust behind them and Zak turned to the right to look over the edge of the steep cliffs at the bottom the hill. They dropped down into the Pacific Ocean, where the waves lashed at the rocks and crags trying to claw their way to the surface of the water.

Drew seemed to almost stamp on the brakes as the DRV skidded over the brow of the hill and Zak leaned forwards over the seat in front of him to gaze at the forests laid out across the land carved out of the sea. His mom continued driving, seemingly at a slower pace now that they were out of sight of the base. Zak peered over the edge of the DRV as it rumbled and bounced through the long grass as they came onto a second slope, which was populated by a series of large, stone statues jutting out the ground. Drew parked the DRV and casually climbed out to stand under the shade of one of the huge, daunting statues that blotted out the broiling sun. Zak, Fisk and Komodo followed suit, the boy and cryptids gazing up at the statue in awe.

"The ancient Moai statues of Easter Island, built from the molten rocks of the Rano Rakuru volcano by the Rapa Nui people centuries ago," Drew seemed a little more interested in the island's heritage now as she stood, gazing up at the bold-faced stone.

Zak and Fisk followed her gaze. "How did they get here?" Zak asked, looking at his mother with a questioning look.

Drew laughed softly and shook her head. "Nobody quite knows the answer to that. There have been lots of theories, even that the inhabitants of the island used ropes to 'walk' the statues here."

"How old are they?"

"Most were made between the 10th and 16th centuries."

Zak watched Komodo in the distance stalking through the long grass, presumably chasing an insect and a distant thought drifted into his head. "Are there any cryptids native to the island?"

Drew seemed to entertain the question. "There have never been any official entries in the cryptopedia for Easter island throughout the years, but there has been your standard myths and legends and unconfirmed sightings. Maybe when things calm down again we can maybe start filling the cryptopedia with some new studies."

Drew's mood seemed to have improved, even if just for a moment and Zak felt his spirits raise at the same time. At the same time though, Zak felt a pang of guilt resonate through him. They could have spent this time helping cryptids and discovering new species previously thought to be hoaxes. He was tired off crossing the globe to keep avoiding Argost and the Nagas. He just wanted to be able to go home and forget about Kur.

When Drew had brought them back later in the evening, Zak had found the airship in scaffolding, its hull resting on a repair platform. His Dad and Paul were talking nonchalantly and Paul was seemingly undeterred by his presence as he edged his way up the airship's open ramp. His Dad and Dr. Cheechoo's team seemed to have had no trouble repairing the ship – the majority of the windows had been placed and the huge holes in the hull left by Munya were in the process of being patched. The interior would be fixed later, as it wasn't a priority, but the ship thankfully still carried that homely feeling that managed to dampen Zak's anxiety enough for him to board without the worry of Argost appearing from around the nearest corner. He wondered where Fisk had wandered off to – he felt as though he needed some company as Dr. Cheechoo's team seemed to be the only people populating the halls. He made his way deeper into the hull of the ship, looking for any of his brothers, or Zon, or his parents – and he eventually found Fisk in the kitchen, trying hopelessly to make what seemed like a cup of coffee.

"Fisk, what are you doing?" Zak questioned, watching incredulously as his brother tried to handle the small, dainty mug whilst trying to pour hot coffee into it using his foot. Fiskerton babbled as some of the coffee sloshed over the sides of the mug and splattered onto the floor. Zak sighed and tried to snatch the cup away from him. "Who are you making this for?"

Fisk looked at Zak indignantly and defended himself with more quickly spoken garble.

"You're making it for Mom?" He asked. Fisk nodded. "Then give it to me," Zak said, taking the cup from him. "Come on, I'm sure she would prefer to have it in the cup than on the floor." Fisk wandered out of the room with a sigh, Zak following closely with his fingers wrapped around the warm mug. Fisk leaned up against the door to the security room, his ear pushed up against the door, before he wandered in, with Zak following behind him. That was when Zak noticed her sat on a desk chair in the middle of the room, the floor around her clustered with books and numerous photos albums. She had one open on her lap, and she was flicking through it, wearing a melancholic smile.

"Mom?" She looked up and gladly accepted the drink, taking a sip of the coffee and holding close to her chest, like she was trying to warm herself.

"Thanks, Zak." Zak peered over her shoulder to look at the numerous albums open in her lap. As he scanned over them at first glance – it didn't seem like they were photos of anyone he knew. The majority of them were of two young children, one girl, with bold white hair like his mother and then another, a younger boy with bright red hair. Looking closer, he realised that the oldest child _was_ his Mom and the younger redhead – that must've been his uncle. She flipped over onto the neighbouring page; a picture of his parents in their college years and then a much visibly older photo of a family portrait.

"Are those?" Zak started.

"Yeah," she answered softly, "those are my parents."

Zak paused for a brief moment. The frozen moment in time was almost melancholic to look at now - the family was huddled together in a group with beaming smiles spread across their bright faces. They were bundled up in scarfs, hats and gloves, with the young girl wrapping her hands around her mother's waist in a hug whilst the younger, smaller boy was sat on his father's shoulder, laughing joyously. Zak looked at the two adults in the picture – his grandmother and mother looked almost identical and his grandfather and the young boy had a striking resemblance too. The young boy – his estranged uncle – had red hair, slightly brighter than his father's and his cherubic face lacked the marks and creases that came with maturity. Zak tried to create a link between the boy in the picture and Van Rook's apprentice, but the image came into his mind distorted and missing several details. He couldn't quite see the sullen, stone-faced expression of Van Rook's apprentice on the exuberant young boy.

Zak continued to turn the frail pages with Drew flipping past image over image of his mother and uncle together and with their parents until they came to the final page, which was of the family huddled together, posing for a photo at a campsite, in the snow.

"Mom, why don't you ever talk about them? What happened?"

"It's not really a happy memory, Zak. Doyle and I lost our parents in a terrible accident that neither of us saw coming. There was supposedly some sort of creature attack, one which I now suspect to have been a cryptid, and that was what took our parents away forever. I tried to find Doyle for years, and so did the monks that took me in, but there was nothing that I could do. It was almost as though something had taken him off of the face of the earth."

She flipped back a page, stopping to trace her fingers over a picture of Doyle, her little brother, kicking a football. "To be honest, Doyle wouldn't have had much of a memory of us at all. He was still very young and skittish at the time which makes we wonder if he is Van Rook's apprentice - who was the one that found him after the accident?" Zak watched as she worked her palms into her temple as though she had a crushing headache.

"What are we going to do, Mom?"

Drew reached out and pulled Zak into a soft, close embrace. "I don't know, sweetie. I wish this could have come at a better time, not whilst we were in hiding but - if your uncle is Van Rook's apprentice, I just need to know for sure."

"But if Doyle is family, shouldn't we trust him?"

"Its not that simple, Zak. It never is. Even if he is family, he is still helping Argost. Family or not - your father and I won't let that happen."

"But why would he work for Argost if he is my uncle?"

"I don't know, honey. I don't know who raised him, but he might not even remember our family at all. He might not remember me." She looked straight at him, worry flickering in her eyes. "I miss him, but I'm not willing to jeopardize our safety to try and get him back, at least not now. Just promise me that you'll stay alert honey - your dad said the repairs will only take a few more days before we can relocate somewhere else."

"Yeah, Dr. Cheechoo probably can't wait for us to leave."

"At least he's given us the help we need, Zak. There is still time to convince him that you aren't a threat after all. Maybe then, the rest of the secret scientists won't feel the need to monitor us so closely."

"What about Argost?"

"We'll figure something out, Zak," she gripped his hand tightly, her steadfast tone almost making her promise seem omnipotent. "I promise."

* * *

 ** _This chapter is mainly a filler, confirming things and giving the family a chance for a mini break lol. Here's some translations for the flashback sections, which also has some inference in it, wonder if you can spot them. translations:_** _Keh-rang ku-su de-bo yin-peh? - how are you/what are you doing? ._ _Gong-da - sorry._ Nga lak sung - They are lost/gone.


	11. Unhinged

_The sparse, misty light had begun to linger, falling victim to the harsh, ominous dark that was crawling upwards in the East. He pushed himself further up against the towering shelf of rough ice, further down into the meagre burrow of snow he had dug out with his feet. He didn't know how far he had fallen, or how long he had fallen for – but it had seemed like an eternity. He had gone crashing, tumbling down the huge wedge of snow jutting out of the mountainside, the snow stinging his eyes and lips, the ice grabbing a hold of the end of his petit nose in a freezing vice and **refusing to let go.** He had rubbed his cheeks raw from the blistering itching of the cold pressing up against his body and the thick, drying tear-tracks burned as they streamed over the intense cold settling down on his face. His coat was thoroughly soaked, peppered with the large, intermittent flakes of snow that were still falling. He was too afraid to remove his gloves and look at his stiff fingers beneath, but under the material, his mind conjured up gruesome images of his fingers rotting away, curling and gnarling into dripping, necrotic, coal coloured flesh. He begrudgingly wiggled his toes, just able to feel them against the fabric of his sodden shoes, all whilst ignoring the burning numbness that speared his legs from the slightest movement. _

_He weakly kicked at the snow, seeking to push himself deeper into the ground, so that he could hide from the monster. **If it was still looking for him. It could probably smell the pungent fear radiating off of him in waves and he swore he could still hear its deafening roars in the distance, being carried by the howling winds.** The fierce snowfall was softening, allowing him to see out into the great expanse below the mountain. As the sky got darker around him, shuddering black and threatening show, he felt a sense of overwhelming terror gripping his chest, as the realisation he was totally alone barrelled down on him once more. He shuddered, shivering even more feverishly than he already was. He peered out from the embankment of snow and looked out into the indigo sky, looking at the sparse, weak, orange lights clustered on the horizon. Were those other people or was that his delirious mind yearning for company? It didn't matter. He was too terrified to even move from his position. There was a horrendous booming in his head that refused to subside as fear clung to him with a crushing grip. He curled up into a foetal position, tears collecting in the corner of his eyes and burning down his face in torrents. He cried until he had no more energy to wail and bawl in despair, sobbing and heaving without sound, puffing out the last spires of dying breath he could manage. He was too exhausted to be afraid, too exhausted to breathe – he was suddenly surrounded by a strange sense of bliss and calm as his head laid back against the ice. Who was he? Where was he? The majority of that dulled softly as soft, crunching footsteps approached slowly in the snow. He wasn't afraid of the footsteps that echoed closer to him like booming thunder as he let his eyelids slip closed. He could feel snowflakes dropping onto his face **, surprisingly warm and heavy as there was an ear splitting boom that rocked the ice shelf…**_

The huge clap of thunder ripped him out of his surreal trance with a jolt. He panicked for a brief moment, head snapping from left to right until he was able to take in his surroundings and finally realise that he was back in reality. He blinked as the indigo sky flashed white for a moment, the outline of the clouds illuminated by the blast. The sky rumbled its warning in reply a moment later, echoing a roar from all directions. Between flashes, the landscape around him burst into view for momentary spells as he could see mountains, rolling fields and the crashing, wild sea. The realisation of where he was brought calm for a second – he wanted to be anywhere but back on that mountain. Then, it brought horrible calamity as he came to reluctantly realise that this wasn't where he was _supposed to be._ The key to freedom had been right in front of him – they had dangled it right in front of his nose. Then it had been snatched away from him, Kur had been snatched right out of his grip and replaced by this recurring nightmare, where the slightest thought of that pale woman's face had sent him back into that blizzard, where he was desperately holding hands with that young girl. He didn't quite know why he was so terrified to lose her, or why she seemed so terrified to let go of him. He didn't even know – or remember – who she was, but as soon as he was thrust back into that recurring vision, the urge to protect her became overwhelming. Why was he suddenly having these visions? He had fought tooth and nail to bury them in the far depths of his mind, and now, suddenly, everything was coming undone. It left him waiting there in the dark in a distant state of mind, contemplating what could have caused everything to come apart so fast. It had left him reeling.

 **He was _still_ reeling from the nauseating blows to the head he had received in the fight. Maybe that was what was causing him to be so _irrational._ Maybe that was it. Maybe he had hit his head and his mind reacted by raking up these distant fears and distorting them into something new. He was mildly concussed and maybe it was causing him to be so careless of the risks of what he was doing. **

_What had caused him to flee here and not return to Argost like he had been supposed to? What would be the consequences when Argost inevitably found him?_

His body was still clawing its way to the surface of this bizarre fatigue, leaving him dazed and nauseous – almost as though he was too groggy to realise the extent of what he had done. He had just wanted to get away from everything so fast and that he had ended up following the ship and collapsing as soon as they made landfall. The fog of confusion that clouded his mind lay over the pain and the fear of disobeying his superiors and he was left pondering his past, rather than his sins. The delirious haze had also left him open to a state of blissful awe, as with the pain and fear washed away, he could realise that he was totally and utterly alone here. As far as he knew, he had never been entirely alone since he had been plucked from the snow on that fateful light. Since then, as isolated and alone as he had felt, there had always been something or someone watching him from the shadows. Now, he was entirely, utterly alone, with nothing but the rain, wind and thunder as his non-sentient companions. It was strangely peaceful, being able to sit out in the open alone, with the warm rain soaking his skin, running down his back and chilling his bones. The feeling of being enveloped in natural darkness with the wind rustling through his hair was exhilarating – somebody could come up behind him and stab him in the back and he would be none the wiser. The corners of his lips twitched upwards for a moment as he looked down into the raging torrents of the ocean below, watching, mesmerised as the waves exploded against the rocks. The wind picked up the harsh spray and flung it as his face, whipping and lashing against his body as he stood firm, lacing his thick, scarred hands together as he looked out over the sea, where the horizon would appear and the ocean would shimmer with every aggressive flash of light.

 **He was deaf to any of the terror echoing in the back of his mind. Liberty was a warped drug, warming his sullen skin, lifting his ugly, slumped heart.**

The ocean below was bucking and rearing wildly, the currents slamming the rocks mercilessly and then slinking down back into the depths. His boots were so sodden that he could almost feel the slick, wispy grass against his feet, brushing up against his ankles as it was churned up by the wind. The heavy droplets of rain plummeted down onto his face, gluing his darkened hair against his pale skin, fastening the scruffy strands of his hair to his head. His mask had been long since abandoned and his body suit was now even tighter against his dampened skin. He felt more exposed than he had ever felt and more weightless than any form he could take in sleep. He felt ghostly, like part of him had died after that encounter. Or part of him had been revived. He frowned, thinking deeper into his strange stupor, further into the state of disarray his mind had left him in. He uncontrollably tensed, his memory starting collect the pieces of the day's encounter together after the temporary amnesia had shrouded it in mist.

 **There was something that woman had called him, what was it?**

The way she had looked at him with that inexplicable expression of horror, it was engraved into his eyes. There was almost recognition in her eyes as she had looked at him. One moment she had been ready to kill him and the next, she was looking down at him in utter despair. Now that he was starting to differentiate between reality and dreams, he noticed that there was an alikeness between the woman and the girl he kept seeing on the mountain, the one that had been clinging to him, pleading to hang on. However, that couldn't be possible. The nauseous visions of this stranger, this girl, they hadn't appeared since he had been nearly knocked unconscious.

 **That woman's face had been the last thing he had seen before he had hit the ground. Had his delirious mind placed her in his memories because she had always been in his memories, or because this strange state had placed her there on purpose?**

Though, she did seem to know who he was. He didn't know how, as he had no memory of ever meeting her. He had heard of the Saturdays years ago, but he had never fought, or seen them until now, so it wasn't possible that she could have known him as an associate of Argost.

 **Unless Argost had mentioned him to the Saturdays as a threat?**

That wouldn't have made any sense, though. Argost had kept him away from the line of fire on purpose, he had wanted to use him as a last line of defence in his scheme. It made little sense to him. He hadn't left weird world for such an extent before and if he had, he would have remembered.

 **Unless she knew him, remembered him from somewhere – remembered him from before the storm.**

He would have remembered her, surely. Then again, he didn't have any memory from before Argost, other than that first night on the mountain. There were intervals, voices and glances between his thoughts, random and sparse clippings of faces that he couldn't quite piece together – but there was no memory of family or friends that he could hold together like a normal person should have been able to. Yet, this woman remembered him and she apparently knew him by name. She knew more about him than he did. Maybe he should seek her out?

 **No. That would be foolish of him. Whether she knew him or not, she was Argost's enemy. She was working against everything he should have looked forward to seeing. Besides, even if he was to go and see her, what would he say? _He belonged_ to Argost, not to her family. **

He was probably lying to himself; he had just ran away from everything he had ever known. He was likely delirious because he would end up dead soon. Argost wouldn't take kindly to him disobeying orders. Though, he wouldn't have taken kindly to him coming back empty handed. Perhaps the only chance of redeeming himself was if he could bring Kur to Argost still? That was his only chance at distracting Argost from bearing down on him for his failure. However, with the boy's mother acknowledging his presence, it would be much more difficult to follow them from the shadows. The fear was starting to crawl back up his spine as he realised just how dire the situation was, now that the joyous feeling of liberty was starting to drain away. He had accidentally accomplished something he had been dreaming about for years. And now that he had, he had no idea what he was going to do. He could feel dread wrapping its bony fingers around his neck in a cold grasp as the veil of amnesia started to wain – he was being hit by the full extent of just how foolish his split second decision had been. What had been wrong with him? Why had he thrown his life away in an instant on a revelation he had probably imagined in his damaged mind?

 **He would have to bring Kur to Argost. That was the only way he would be able to escape with his life. If they deemed him defective, he would have no chance. Even if he did manage to get away, even if by some miracle he could vanish from the grid or get away without mortal injuries – he would be living in a world completely alien to him. He would be totally exposing himself to the brutality of the rest of the world. Argost had warned him that nothing better lay beyond the gates to his own land.**

He would have to take the boy to Argost. That would be the only way he could reverse the actions of his trauma induced haze and as the brief euphoria of freedom started to wear down, so did the harsh illusions of the white haired girl or woman from the mountain. Disappointingly, it had seemed more like an illusion now than ever. He tried to swallow the regret swimming up his throat – because that woman was still in the back of his mind, whispering that name to him, and he was trying to thwart his deep interest in the possibility of getting to know the identity that she seemed to know him as. Her horrified expression of recognition had planted the seed of doubt in his mind, which was now growing into branches of thorns that stung and scratched at any security he had about his origins. They pricked at the dulled thoughts he could barely remember, clutching at them and slowly dragging them up to the surface.

 **Doyle. That's what she had called him. She had looked down at him with soft blue eyes stunned with surprise and the name had slipped off her tongue as a question in her disbelief. He'd forgotten it at the time in the midst of the chaos, but now her questioning tone gnawed at his mind, echoing, calling, and beckoning him forwards.**

Fear struck at his heart as he started to shiver more violently, not just from the cool rain settling on his slick skin. The thunder roared once more, the sky exploding with an aggressive flash that reflected the white terror in his face. He didn't even know who _Doyle_ was. Were they that boy she had been desperately reaching for on the mountain? Were they someone from her past that she either desperately loved or loathed? If he was someone to hate, or someone she had mistaken for that – there would be little chance of safely finding out whatever information about his past that Kur's mother could possibly have about his past. He was frightened by what he would find.

 **Perhaps Argost was right, in a way. Maybe this woman was shocked because she hadn't expected him to live, if she did know him. Maybe she came from the same place as he did, knew the people, the parents who had abandoned him. Maybe she had been there when he had been thrown to the lions, thrown to the monsters. Maybe she was shocked to see that he had survived being outcast by man's throwaway society.**

His darkened face twisted into an expression of anxiety. Argost had built him back up after he had been left to die, to freeze in agony on that mountain. He should have been able to pay the aristocrat back for his generosity. Weird World was not the comforting hold of regular human company perhaps, but it had strong walls and basic _warmth_ that kept his bones from rotting down in that same prolific cold he had faced as an infant. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, raking his nails down his cheeks in anxiety. He should have ripped that boy away from his family without a second glance. He should have presented him to Argost with a glimmer of pride in his eyes. Instead; he was a coward. He fell at the sword of his opponent. He let the target go without protesting. He had been reluctant to return or try once more. The ultimate act of defiance. He owed everything to that cause and he had turned his back against it without a second thought at the time. He had been so deluded and incapacitated that he had fled in the face of defeat, rather than facing it. He worked his teeth into the groove in his tongue cut during the previous battle. He clenched his jaw as blood began to flow over his gums once more.

 **What had he done?**

The blood glistened on the edges of his lips as he looked over towards the hills, to where the land met the sea on the other end of the island. Argost would have done it. Any cryptid would have done it. Even other humans; Van Rook and Abbey would have done it without any hesitation. He balled his hands into fists, squeezing them tightly.

 _They could do it, so he could do it too. He could be just as cruel as them, at least for this once._

The enormous airship was listing slightly to one side in the hanger, illuminated in the dark by the few floodlights hanging from the ceiling. The frame was propped up by scaffolding and boards, exposing the large hole torn into the bow of the ship. The thunder roared outside once more, being muffled by the metal walls hemming the ship together. He frowned, squinting his eyes to observe one of the inside light illuminating the inside of the ship. The rain was drying on his slick skin, sending chills sinking down to his bones. He shuddered, his sodden clothes sticking to him, the sudden change in temperature making the harsh, scarred skin on his hands and feet ache and burn in discomfort. His feet squelched against the bottom of his boots as he slowly moved closer towards the ship, ducking underneath it at the last moment to avoid being out in the open for too long. He frowned.

 **They had carelessly left the ramp to the ship cracked open. He could slip inside with ease and nobody would realise he was there.**

He tore his eyes away from the surroundings, twitching at every sound from the space, paranoid. He swept his leg over the gap in the frame slowly, pulling himself up onto the ledge and crawling upwards onto the ramp, trying to force the sound out of his squelching footfalls. The deeper halls of the ship were an intense maze of winding, curling steels passageways, with the only sparse light being the dull bulbs positioned above the doorways. His fearful eyes darted left and then right and he steeled himself to continue, his heart pounding inside his chest. The dark didn't terrify him. It was the prospect of treading slowly through these unfamiliar corridors that set him on edge. He was half expecting to be ambushed from one of the doorways, especially knowing the preparedness of the Saturdays.

 **He should be being more careful, he should have been more fearful. Being fearful was what kept him alive. The strange boldness he was acting with was going to be detrimental to his health.**

He craned his neck around one of the hallways, peering into the gradual blackness that spread out down the walls. He licked his lips nervously, gingerly taking steps down the halls until he reached several sets of stairs, leading up into the other areas of the ships. As he continued, some of the doors were key card protected, but some weren't, allowing him to push the latches open and peer inside. There were no sounds of any people, though and that both reassured and disappointed him at the same time, as now that the veil of confusion had gone from his mind, he could hear the words of the pale haired woman and her husband, echoing over and over like a thousand drums. His heart was knocking against his ribs as they repeated over and over again.

 _"A new apprentice Van Rook?"_

 _"Get away from my son!"-_

 _"Greetings and bienvenue boys and girls. A very warm welcome to you all watching my delightful television show."_

He froze suddenly, his blood turning to ice as his whole body tensed uncontrollably. He had almost jumped from shock, pressing himself back against the wall, shaking. The corners of his mouth had upturned into a grimace at the sound of Argost's voice and he resisted the urge to throw up what little scraps were sitting in the pit of his stomach. His legs wobbled, almost giving out of him completely as he slumped down against the wall, terrified. The voice was distant, echoing from at least a few doors away, but Argost's distinctive tone wat ringing in his ears. He tried to listen closer, trying to make out just how far away he was. If Argost was here, in the ship, he would only have a matter of time to survive. Running away way out of the question. Trying to hide was out of the question. It was too late for that anyway. Argost would have him struggling by the neck in an instant. It dawned on him quickly and left him breathless, as though the hand was already there, grasping at his throat and squeezing the life out of him.

"Do I have a treat for you today lucky viewers, this delightful beast comes straight from the deep dark abysmal pits of the earth."

He listened again. The voice was muffled and sort of distorted – not as clear as normal speech should have been. He slowly began to release his muscles from the shock rooting him to the spot. He wanted to get closer, to hear it better, because although it was definitely Argost's, his tone was unusual, like he was masking himself with his doppelganger identity of a polite, rich, children's entertainer. He wouldn't have been speaking like that if he had been threatening someone. His tone would have become calmly contained and bitter, with rage barely running over his lips. This sounded like the false yet repulsing sweetness he lathered himself in before recording a session of weird world. Along with the choice of words – that was exactly what this seemed to be. He had finally convinced himself to move down the hall, hearing the static of Argost's voice edge closer slowly.

"Even the slightest hint of venom from this cryptid can melt your insides. Such a wonderful beast."

Something caught his eye – a static, flickering light creepy under one of the doors in the hall. He leaned closer, holding his breath gently as he moved an ear closer to the door. He could he Argost's voice clearly now, along with the hushed whispers and murmurs of people. He swallowed the lump rising in his throat, thinking about the encounter with Kur's parents, just hours earlier. He listened closely to the voices and picked up on the lightness of one of the voices and the apparent garble of the rest. It was the boy and the giant, lanky ape creature. He sighed, almost in relief, the noise disguised by the blaring of the TV. It would be so easy to force his way inside now, incapacitate the giant monkey, take the boy and steal off into the night. Then again, he didn't want to make another mistake.

 **Argost was right, only one disgraceful mistake made everything less bearable. He wouldn't make any more – he would need to contemplate a plan in the hopes that the boy couldn't slip through the net. He was more than vastly outnumbered, but that didn't matter now. If they did catch him, The Saturdays would likely give him more mercy than Argost could ever muster, especially if Kur's mother had confused him for, _or known him in,_ another life. **

Whatever plan he could make - it would need to be something with more finesse and more _care_. He couldn't do callous brutality, he had long since realised that, but elegance and secrecy in what he was doing, hardening his face into a stone wall while the rest of him crumbled under torturous pain, that's what he had been trained for. He had been trained not to crack in the face of death, interrogation or pain. He couldn't manipulate or intimidate, but he could mask his true intentions and scrape every last detail off of those around him. He would need to be much less reckless if he was going to come out of this unscathed, and bring the world into a new golden era.

* * *

 **Gosh this chapter sounds so depressing and angsty reading it back to myself - and sadly the heartachy writing is only going to get more intense. Also I'm still accepting constructive criticism on these so any feedback is appreciated in this fandom that consists of twelve people and an old sock :'). Also TSS is 10 years old now. I wanted to get this done for the anniversary date or at least make some art but either way, 10 years is a mega milestone and how much things have changed since then is mindblowing.**


	12. Bivium

Argost's manner was disgusting, and Zak knew it. Yet, he continued to allow himself to get tangled in the supervillain's snares.

"Today, boys and girls, I have a special message for all of my avid, faithful watchers."

Despite holding up after watching season after season of Weird World, Zak now felt himself shudder slightly in disgust and huddle slightly closer to Fisk's warmth. It was almost as though Argost's menacing yellow eyes were entranced upon him through the virtual border of the screen – like Argost was entirely confident that Zak was watching on the edge of his seat. The sheer presence of Argost's cold voice was enough to set him on edge, but he forced himself to sit through the gruelling minutes, if only to wait for encrypted advice from the mastermind plotting his demise. It made him pray for the days, the much easier days when he was blissfully unaware of the threat Argost his biggest worry was standing up to his Dad's contribution to cryptozoology, or beating Fisk at a video game. Y'know - before he was revealed to be an ancient evil Sumerian cryptid with a destiny to overthrow mankind. Before he had to sneak down the halls late at night to make contact with Argost, someone likely plotting to destroy their family at that very moment.

His parents had enough on their plates as it was, they didn't need the revelation that their son was conspiring with the enemy. Especially his mother, who had been reduced to a weakened state emotionally after learning that one of the men working to capture her son could be her long lost brother. Zak tried to remain optimistic for his mom that this could be his uncle - her brother that she had given up searching for, hopeless about the prospect that he could have survived. Though, even if they were related - this man was still loyal to either didn't know, or care, about the sister or nephew that he had deserted, and Zak tried to remember. He tried to visualise the sharp, steely contours of the chrome mercenary mask on top of the soft, cherubic features of the boy from he aged family photos. He had caught a momentary glimpse of the man when his Mom had pinned him to the floor with her firesword to his throat. They shared similar features, the man and Zak's mother - but the man at the end of the blade was almost an imposter, a mockery of the youngest child in the photos. He was hauntingly different, like he was only a shell of the brother that his mother has known. His face had been pale and gaunt, and Zak had noticed the skeletal appearance of his cheeks and jaw. His eyes had been wide, darting back and forth looking for escape routes. He remembered the terror on his mother's face, the frantic panic as she sifted through the photos, desperate to find the truth.

"You are in for a delightful treat. I have scoured the world for the most powerful of the cryptids, a beast capable of destroying our cosy, uniformed world, a creature of woe that could turn humanity to bones and ashes if unleashed by an unworthy ruler."

Zak felt the few strands of self confidence and esteem he had managed to hang onto crumple like paper at Argost's words, sighing defeatedly. He wanted to be able to disassociate himself from those monsters of old, he wanted to be able to quell the guilt he felt about the massacres that happened centuries ago. Fisk seemed to notice his discomfort and wrapped his arms around him, drawing him closer. Zak squeezed his brother's hand gently, unable to peel his eyes away from Argost's sickening display of entertainment on the screen.

"Lock yours doors and windows tight and curl up tight boys and girls, pray that this monster doesn't find out where you live"

Zak cringed, sickness threatening to crawl up his throat as he curled up into Fisk, who was growling protectively, glaring at the twisted man on the screen.

"The very scourge of our world-."

Argost's pixelated face was suddenly reduced to an empty black screen, as the lights around them dulled to a faint orange glow. The whole ship gave a shudder and then a groan echoed through its frame in protest as the mainframe powered down. Zak and Fisk looked at each other in worry, Fisk's bold red eyes shining through the darkness.

"Why is the airship powering down?" Zak directed the question more towards himself than his brother as a horrible wash of scenarios started to stream through his head. It could have been a simple, random power outage - the ship was being stored inside and was undergoing repairs, meaning that it was difficult for it to regain a solar charge. In retrospect, however - that shouldn't have been possible. The ship could go onto back up power, but it would have to be manually turned off from the control station in the lower areas of the ship. There could have been an electrical fault, but more worrying thoughts were running rampant through his mind. What if it was Argost? What if he was sneaking in for a final time to try and snatch him away. What if Argost had laid a trap, let loose a cryptid or some kind of parasite? What if he had sent someone in to get him? He was in the right mind to go running to find his parents, like he did as an infant when he had trouble sleeping. Though, if Argost was being secretive, it likely meant that he wanted to meet him to discuss something in private. Thus, maybe he shouldn't alert his parents to the problem. He edged his way to the edge of the sofa slowly, but Fisk grabbed onto his arm. The Lemurian looked at him with worried eyes as he wagged his index finger at Zak, suggesting that he knew what his brother was thinking and immediately knew it was a bad idea.

"Fisk, c'mon. If this is Argost he might need to give us a message," Zak reassured. Fisk shook his head and babbled worriedly. "Fisk, if we don't go to him, he might come looking for me, and then Mom, Dad and everyone else might be in danger." He peeled Fisk's hand off of his shoulder and tiptoed to the door. He dragged it open slowly and peered down the dimly lit hallway, half expecting Argost to be standing there. He was both relieved and anxious about the fact that there was nobody and edged further into the hall, cringing at the loudness of his quick breathing. He could hear Fisk following, his footfalls lighter given his thick fur and pads to cushion his feet and hands. Zak wasn't quite sure where he was going, he wanted to get it over with, but his body wanted to procrastinate from going to the power room for as long as possible. Fisk was right beside him with his comforting presence. With the ship void of power, the reassuring, rumbling sounds of the generators were gone, leaving a disturbing, eerie silence behind that blotted out everything else. Zak was expecting to witness Argost loitering in one of the doorways, or standing at the end of a corridor, or maybe waiting in the generator room. He was waiting for Munya's ferocious growls to start echoing down the corridor, or for the roaring sound of Van Rook's jetpack to come speeding up behind him. Nothing but empty air.

The same, silent atmosphere was lingering in the generator room. Zak had pulled the heavy iron door aside and brandishing the claw, he illuminated the room in an orange glow. His eyes scanned the walls, the floor, the pipes on the ceiling, the engines – he couldn't see anything moving. This allowed his body to relax a little as he lowered his shoulders. He beckoned Fisk to follow him inside, gazing around cautiously as he shuffled forwards, shoes clacking against the metal grate flooring - obnoxiously loud. Though, immediately he found that he was being consumed by the odd spectacle that nothing had been touched, or moved, or damaged. Everything was in place, with none of the dials or screens having been smashed or sabotaged. All of the lockers remained shut and securely fastened, with no sign of breaking and entering. It made him want to lean towards the conclusion that the event was nothing more than a system failure. Maybe Argost wasn't here?

He reluctantly moved his free hand towards one of the levers, hesitating before he used the claw to pull it downwards. He startled a little, when the screen came to life, white light filling the monitor screen. He could feel Fisk's breathing on his neck, the Lemurian leaning over him as they read the tiny message displayed on the screen in sync: _System manually powered down_. Manually _._ Zak scratched the back of his hand anxiously. His Dad's programming was extremely efficient and several actions needed to be taken by hand first before the ship could completely shut down. Someone would have had to have hacked in, or done this here, by hand, if they had wanted to cripple the system. Zak's eyes were attracted back towards the screen as a second line of text: _force system reboot?_ He paused for a moment and then confirmed. There was soft whirring in the background, drowsy clicking sounds as the system slowly came back to life. He supposed that was all they could do at the current time. He and Fisk could leave and the system would be back online on its own by the morning. He backed away from the monitors, still reluctant to accept the idea that it could have been a simple system issue. He made his way back towards the vault door with Fisk following behind him.

He was about to wrap his still shaking fingers around the latch, when a sharp clinking sound sliced through the suffocating quiet that blanketed the room. A piercing ringing of metal against metal that reverberated off the walls and caused him to spin around and project the light of the claw towards where he thought the sound had come from. The orange beam illuminated a metal object as in fell against a shelf and then clattered to the ground, rolling towards them. Pressed back against the door, he tried to figure out what it was. Shaped like a grenade or a canister, Zak had no doubt that it could have been a weapon. It rolled to a steady halt against one of Fiskerton's feet as the Lemurian stared at it with curious, red eyes. To Zak's horror, Fiskerton bent down and picked it up, examining it in his hand.

"Fisk no, don't-!"

There was a loud 'popping' sound, followed by a harsh hissing noise as gas began to pour from the canister. Fiskerton cried out, dropping the can like it was piping hot as it continued to spew gas, engulfing the cryptid in a cloud of grey-green smog. Zak started forwards, yelling for Fisk. The dense fumes were starting to burn his throat as he got closer. The particles of smog were brushing his skin and stinging his eyes; he felt more and more drowsy as he swam further into the gas cloud. Suddenly, he felt a firm hand roughly grab the back of his shirt, tugging him away. He had been left incapacitated by the gas, but he was still coherent enough to know that it wasn't Fisk who had grabbed him. He started to shout, writhing around, trying to squirm out of the attacker's grip. Whilst drowsily scrambling to slip out of his shirt to escape, Zak felt a strong arm wrapping around his abdomen, struggling to drag him upwards and away from the clearing gas cloud. He fiercely pounded on his captor's arm as the claw was forced out of his hands.

The terror that had been simmering in his stomach was now boiling over in his throat as the orange glow pooling in his eyes flashed intermittently, plunging them into darkness and then reeling them out of it. Zak's fear had reached breaking point, leaving rational thought processes behind and clawing at the more primal behaviour that he tried so hard to bury at the back on his mind. So when the man clamped his palm over Zak's mouth to muffle his cries - Zak sunk his teeth into the calloused skin pressing against his mouth, biting hard enough to taste the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. The man let out a startled grunt in pain, pressing down harder and almost pinching Zak's nose. Zak was flailing his limbs in a panic as things started to turn dark, blacking out with the man's bleeding palm still pressed against his face.

* * *

Zak's eyes snapped open, his breath catching in his windpipe as the dense air came rushing into his lungs. He tried to blink away the grainy static dancing across his vision as he struggled to sit upright, fighting the nauseous burning in his throat. Whilst trying to claw his way out of the drowsy haze, Zak found that his hands were bound tightly behind his back and his anxiety throttled him forwards into a blind panic. He scrambled to scratch at the rope on his wrists, his breathing and quaking becoming more erratic. His mind was awake, and replaying the moments before the attack. _Where was Fisk?_ The bindings were restricting his circulation, starting to chafe his skin raw. _Where was he?_ The fragmented thoughts in his head clouded any sense of rational thinking he had and he started to thrash, pounding his feet against the ground and hoarsely calling out into the felt his heart lurch into his throat as his protests were muffled once again by a rough hand clamping over his mouth. Zak had wanted to run, but he could only freeze, the blood in his veins running cold and solidifying as he felt a presence behind him breathing down his neck.

" **Quiet.** Or else."

The voice hissing in his ear was low and throaty - laced with a tough epidermis of gravel and harshness. The deep, tremulous tone sent shivers down his spine as it drifted across the back of his neck. He began to shiver - the arm wrapped around him was bitter and sodden, like thawing ice. The breath, though warmer, was still crisp and chilled, like frosty outside air creeping under a doorway. The man's bony shoulder felt like an uneven shelf of ice imposingly pressing up against his back, holding him in a deathly grip like their lives depended on it. Despite the gruff breathing and erratic heartbeat that surely meant the man was alive, the figure felt like a shell of stone, as inert as an old statue. Zak fell silent and stopped struggling and immediately the pressure of fingers and soft gripping of nails on his cheeks ceased as the man took his rough, calloused palm away from Zak's mouth, leaving an icy tingling sensation on his soft skin. Zak felt the aura of coldness move away from him, standing up and taking feather-light steps around to face him. His eyes flashed a nervous amber in response, brightening the dark face of the shadowy figure towering over him. That's when he came to realise who it was.

His mind flashed back to the firefight, where his mother had Van Rook's apprentice pinned to the ground, then to the terror of being held captive by the same masked man and his iron grip, with Abbey taunting him. However, this time, there was no Abbey, no parents and no mask on the face of the man that his mother thought was her long lost sibling. Then Zak's fear turned to worry. He couldn't place the expression on the man's face. Out of all of the villains Zak had ever faced - mercenaries, underhand cryptid dealers and minion's of Argost - he was used to the hate filled words and grins tinted with malice. He was used to the lack of sympathy and thirst for power. Though, he was unprepared for the complete lack of visible emotion on the man's features. The daunting face of Munya came to mind as their eyes met, in the uncanny way in which the man's jaw was set into a cold frown, how the dark skin under his eyes sagged and how his brow was furrowed into an emotionless stare. The orange light of Zak's eyes illuminated the sharp curves to his face and the ghostly tones of the skin seemingly stretched taut over the bones. Zak stared right back at the man's face, studying his features and trying to connect them to the photos of Doyle that his Mom had kept safe since his disappearance.

The apprentice's auburn hair was soaked and messily plastered to his forehead, darker than the light ginger locks in the photos, darkened by age or grime. The man had icy blue eyes, a lot like his would-be uncle's and a lot like his Mom's. Though, where her eyes meant everything warm and comforting to him - the mercenary's were harsh and imposing. His mother's eyes were bright and alive, like a soft summer sky, or a settled lagoon of water. They were perfectly tranquil, and glimmered with confidence. The mercenary's eyes were paler and clouded like a winter front that repelled any warmth. His pupils darted and trembled, like erratic ripples of water on the surface of the same lagoon. There was no steadiness, and no normality to the man's focus - his composure flickered at every slight noise and his eyes held the ignited terror of a cornered wild animal. It made Zak uncomfortable and the room was filling quickly with a layer of tension thick enough to be cut with a knife. He wanted to speak up and shatter the sheet of ice, but his mouth was dry and the words piled up on his tongue when he tried to speak. The only sound was the shuffling of fabric as he fought to free his hands. The man seemed to notice his frenzy and bent down in front of him, leaning closer, close enough for the shimmering orange light to highlight the man's abnormally sharp cheekbones.

"Trying to escape is fruitless." The man's voice was stony, almost forcefully low. It was as though he could predict whatever Zak was thinking, and the glassy wizened tint to the man's eyes certainly made it seem that way. Zak released the breath he had been holding, and worked up the courage to look the man in the eye. Burying the prospect that this man could have been his uncle was proving to be difficult. He was twindling the ties between his fingers, trying to work at the knot that held his wrists together - though it was more difficult to find the breakthrough with his hands out of view. He wondered if he could bring his arms under his legs so that he could look at the bindings, but it would be difficult with his every move being observed by the man crouching in front of him.

"What do you want with me?" Zak challenged, his burning eyes channeling into the hard cold of his captor's. Neither backed down - Zak couldn't thaw that icy stare and the apprentice found it just as difficult to cool the nervous flames swirling in Zak's eyes. He hoped that he could maybe distract the man long enough with conversation for his parents to catch up, wherever they were.

The man took a long pause, long enough for it to startle Zak when he finally spoke again. "I don't want anything from you." Zak couldn't quite place the man's tone - it wasn't quite bordering on disgust, but it made him seem that he was disinterested in engaging with intimidation tactics.

"I know you work for Argost." Zak finally noticed something register in the man's face. The mention of that name seemed to instill momentary worry into the man's face as he recoiled. He continued, having found a new leg of confidence to stand on. "How much is he paying you and Abbey to come after me?" The expression of worry seemed to drop as the man's faced resettled into an unreadable mask.

"I came here **alone**." Zak looked for any hints of venom in the man's frown, but there wasn't any. The man's statement was blunt and he felt calmed by the possible absences of the other mercenaries or Argost, but he didn't believe in the man's words with completel validity. After all, Abbey lied, Van Rook lied, why would this time be any different? "I came to talk."

Zak felt a shiver run down his spine, wondering if this had anything to do with his mother's theory, or possibly his own status as Kur, ruler of the cryptids. If Doyle had come looking for his sister, Zak had a miserable amount of information that he could give him. Though, if they did turn out to be family, would that prevent him from siding with Argost? He scratched at the bindings once more, his arms aching as he tried to pull them out from behind his back.

"So you decided to ambush and kidnap me?" Zak couldn't help his defiant tongue, refusing to back down from a challenge was something that he had inherited from both of his parents - and it almost seemed to intrigue his potential uncle as he blinked curiously and made a noise that sounded like an amused scoff.

"You're in no position to bargain," the man reminded him with a sudden growl as his disinterested attitude was flipped on its head once more. Again, there was no toxicity to his tone, but his tongue was sharp, and quick in regaining control of the situation. Zak cringed with effort as he pulled his hands over his feet and rested them, still bound, against his shins. The orange light from his eyes was poor and now that he had started to calm down, Doyle's weary face was bathed in an unnatural, ghostly glow.

Zak sighed, blinking and composing himself to meet the icy eyes burning through him. "Neither are you - I'm sure my parents are looking for me right now," Zak tried boldy. He didn't know if he was bluffing or reassuring himself that help would come soon. 'Doyle' tugged at his collar almost nervously as his eyes flashed back to Zak's hands, like he knew the boy was trying to get away, but chose to ignore it. The mercenary's eyes narrowed, but he didn't retaliate.

"They likely don't know that you're gone, and your cryptid acquaintance is quite incapacitated," he chastised, strangely with a shaky edge to his voice, like the threats were shallow and the man was grasping at straws for the opportunity to blindside him.

Zak scowled at him. "So you would rather work for a creep like Argost than your family?" Zak knew it was a wildcard, but he had to try and turn the man's attention to something other than this. The man's eyes roamed over him for a moment before he turned away.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he refused in a tone possibly more emotionless than the last. Zak wanted to hope that he was chipping away at the man's tough exterior, but he was giving very little away.

He tried again, taking a deep breath to tell the story that he had kept on the tip of his tongue for the past few hours. "27 years ago in the himalayas, something attacked my Mom and her family." He looked into Doyle's eyes, hoping for any sign of recognition to spring up on his face. "A cryptid attack killed her parents and she searched for years to find my uncle."

The harsh exterior gave little away. "That has nothing to do with me."

Zak met his eyes again, more softly this time. This was extremely risky, but Drew had been almost certain that this man was her long lost brother without hesitation. It set him on edge that the man was so undeterred, but his Mom had mentioned previously that Doyle was very young when it happened, he could have been in denial, or he may not have remembered having a family at all. _Or this might not even be Doyle at all. This man might be Argost's most ruthless assassin who's willing to do anything to appease him._

"She said that when your mask came off, it was like she was looking at her brother's face again." Doyle's face flickered as he seemed to put the pieces together and Zak could feel him burning holes into him with his unwavering stare. For a moment, his face contorted into an expression that Zak could only describe as terror, and his body began to quiver more violently then it had been doing before. Then he was completely silent, eyes fixed not on Zak, but on the nothingness around them. Zak remained motionless in the suffocating tension for what was probably a few minutes, but seemed like an eternity.

"Are you okay?" He was aware that his words were trembling and that he had to force them past his lips, but it was a force of habit. He felt obliged to ask.

"That's not possible." Zak's voice seemed to snap the man out of his bizarre trance and now, when he spoke, Zak could hear traces of malice lingering on his lips. "I don't have family. I don't have a sister. I **know** I don't."

"Are you sure you don't? Really think about it," Zak challenged, thinking he was slowly worming his way into the man's thoughts, despite how deep in denial he was. He could almost see the old, disused cogs in his mind turning as he dug deeper, trying to find some validity in his beliefs.

"You're deluded," the man snapped, his lips twitching.

"Everybody has family, Doyle." Zak said, more softly this time when he picked up on the utter confusion on the man's face. He loosened the last knot around his wrists. "...You really don't even know your own name?"

Doyle opened his mouth, about to speak, but echoing, metallic bangs from outside diverted his attention away from Zak. A door came crashing down, spilling light into the room. They were still on the ship, in the power room and his parents had found them.

"Zak!" They both yelled in sync as the pre-teen took the opportunity and scrambled towards Fiskerton and his parents. Looking at them, his mom seemed to be in shock, her stare locked onto the mercenary, though she hadn't even bothered to unsheath her fire sword. His dad on the other hand had an expression of anger etched onto his features, and the erratic glow of his power glove was reflecting his mood. Zak's eyes flashed back to Doyle, who scrambled back. With one hand raising his wrist blaster and the other plucking a grenade from his belt, he dropped it in a flash. The cannister erupted, but wasn't filled with gas like the other. No, this one exploded, sending sparks roaring up the walls that soon ignited into hungry flames. From his Mom's arms, he saw the flames reflect the wild expression on Doyle's face momentarily before he moved back from the wall of fire, scrambling up a ladder as the fire advanced in all directions. Zak's dad didn't even hesitate. They watched as he raced through the flames after the mercenary, the build up of smoke and residue swirling and wavering as he charged through it.

"Dad!"

"Doc!"

* * *

 _ **Once again this took longer than expected, but enjoy! By now everyone has likely figured out the plot and the family dilemmas will be pilling up in the next chapters. Once again to the fabulous Ashblackrabbit who helped me make the tricky dialogue between Zak and AU Doyle. If you haven't already read their TSS fics, I highly recommend it.**_


	13. Smoke Inhalation

In sleep, his body danced through the fiery night, carrying with him the scattered, stinging ashes that swarmed the mind and flooded the senses. The charred ends of material and debris curled together into memories, fragile and too piping hot for him to touch. The smoke was amnesia, choking his mind and filling his lungs with smog, forcing him to spout out the occasional burning cough. He remembered racing through the walls of raging crimson wrath, hot sparks singing the back of his neck. Smoke travelled up, branching out as it reached the roof, pushing him further to the floor. It flickered across the metal floor searing everything black. His fingers were black, charred, and his vision, his eyes, as dark as night. His sodden clothes wrinkled and curled under the intense heat. The warmth lapped at his face as if tasting its prey. The smoke reached him much before the flames did, and it crept forwards on hands and knees towards him. Residue stung his eyes and billowing plumes wrapped around his mouth like a hand. The palm was heavy and lingering, the wrappings of smoke were just as hard to peel away as the cold imposing hand of a younger Argost, pressed over his mouth to silence the screaming, and as the smoke poured into his mind, that's what he began to believe.

" _Stop your incessant bawling, boy! We are miles from any sliver of civilisation! Do you not understand that no other creature - man or beast - cares enough about your existence as much as I do?"_

A leathery palm, almost skeletal with the skin clinging to the bones - clamped harshly over his petit face, his mouth and nose. The fingers were gnarled and the knuckles protruding and despite the appearance of weakness, the underlying iron-strong grip was stupefying and inspired the fear into his head from a young age. The feeling of being trapped, cornered, hands on him, suffocation. Like the smog, it was inhuman, the nails were more like claws, sinking into the soft flesh of his cheeks and pinching his nose. He was champing his teeth together wildly, trying to work air through his covered lips.

" _Mankind was born to kneel at the feet of greater beings, as I have told you time and time again. You have been abandoned by your own, but in order to be kind, you have to be cruel, I can carry you to greatness, would you like that?_

In his death-haze state, he almost welcomed the unbearably warm blur of smoke that chased away any association with the icy cold that tried to creep into his mind. He was still scrambling to clear the smoke away from his mouth but his movements were slowly getting drowsier and more sluggish. He slumped down against the white-hot metal railings, struggling to breathe. He was going to choke to death on smog, and there was nothing he could do about it. He watched the flames, drowsily content with watching them dance along the walls. Argost already held him to shame, what difference would dying trying to make? The hand withdrew and inflicted a harsh slap across his cheek.

" _I saved you from abandonment, I gave you a life. If you cannot repay your debt - I refuse to lug your weak carcass with me."_

There was a loud cry from within the fire, and a violent glow as a form of a man came charging through the smoke with one hand over his mouth and the other outstretched towards him. In his blurred, stinging vision, he saw the blurry, built form and began to panic as an arm wrapped around his abdomen and he was hoisted over a broad shoulder. His mind entered a fight or flight panic state and although he was a hair's breadth away from danger - he made it difficult for the man trying to haul him through the fire. There was an audible grunt as he dug his knee into the man's back, and the hands struggled to keep a firm hold on him as he squirmed and writhed about like a wild animal. He was fading quickly and his movements were exacerbating his lack of breath. He sluggishly wrapped his arms around the man's neck in a pathetic chokehold, still grinding his foot into his captor's abdomen.

" _You will never be worth anything in this world. A world like ours has no sympathy, no heart for a bastard* child without a name to his identity."_

"Stop it! You're giving me second thoughts about coming back for you!" The voice was deep and distorted, maybe a hallucination. It belonged to the man holding him, who was trying to shout across the flames to other people.

His eyes started to close, breathing gradually becoming more laboured. The smoke was collecting into a migraine and pounding inside his temple. He was still coughing, and each breath rattled his chest and sent sparks of pain igniting in his lungs. It was so much effort, so much pain to try and inflate his burning lungs and then cough out the spires of poisonous ash.

"Stay awake, don't close your eyes!"

He couldn't help it. His head dropped lifelessly onto the man's back as his eyes slipped closed and the distorted shouting and roaring of the fire all amalgamated into a crescendo. The unbearable warmth and peril faded as he slipped out of consciousness.

* * *

If there was anything after life, it appeared to be nothingness. The darkness was solid, whether his eyes were open or sealed and his body was weightless - like he was floating aimlessly through eternity forever. Most of his senses appeared to be numb, couldn't see, couldn't touch, couldn't smell - but he was relieved to find that the environment around him **sounded** alive. Unnatural sounds rang out left and right, slow rhythmic chirps thrumming a familiar rhythm, the low but friendly humming of machinery and harsh bleeps that sent jolts through his body. Everything around him was slowly becoming more alive, gradually growing in pitch and colour - the presence of light changing the colour behind his eyelids from black to a dark red. No sooner than he recognised the sound of the wind, he could feel it too, and it brought him reassurance that he was still on earth, if hanging by a thread. The strange, hazy euphoria made his lips twitch into a smile as he felt the cold, fresh air drift softly over his skin - fresh air, not tainted with death, or oppression or smoke. He fought to pull apart his eyelids or even lift a finger - he was anxious to know where he was. He wanted to reassure himself that it had to be somewhere safe;

it had to be if it was open enough for the wind to be able to sweep inside.

There was a flickering blur of colour for a moment, and he fought to cling onto it, forcibly blinking away the residue of his comatose-state from around his eyes and resisting the tempting urge to drop back into dormancy. He mustered up whatever strength he had left, and found that he could curl his left hand into a fist and barely raise it up from the wrist. A sigh of frustration rattled through his body as he struggled to lift his head up from the cushioned surface it rested on, only to be hit by a wave of distortion that made him regret moving too quickly. He had eventually managed to drag his left hand up to his face and feverishly rub at the exhaustion caking his eyelids. With his vision finally focused, his eyes drifted ahead slowly, straight ahead to the ceiling. He gazed at the soft grey tiles of the roof in a ponder, confused. He craned his neck up to look at the rest of his surroundings and came to several conclusions at once, his sluggish mind struggling to process everything at once. It could have been a prisoner's space, but it looked startlingly similar to a medical room. The room was plain, with whitewashed walls and a sterile scent that made his nose wrinkle. He was lying in a medical bed, with thin covers crumpled up and partially draped over his body. The shrill beeping was emanating from the array of machines surrounding the bed and his eyes followed the wires from the machines to their place on his chest.

He felt the cold wind brushing his cheek and he turned his head in the direction of the wafting scent of outside air. The left wall was entirely glass, revealing the open blue sky outside, white clouds occasionally drifting past the window. One of the windows was cracked open, allowing a slither of air to creep inside. He tried to roll over into the full view of the windows, but something was holding his right arm in place, cold metal gripping his wrist and preventing him from moving away. His eyes darted over and a pinprick of anxiety speared his heart when he realised that he was cuffed by his hand to the rail of the bed. He picked at the chains desperately, the drowsiness taking a backseat to terror as his eyes scanned the room for something to pick the lock with.

 _It was only a matter of time before whoever put him there would come back and attempt to finish him off. He needed to get himself together and quickly slip away before anyone realised that he was gone. The paranoia burned worse than before and the air that had been so calming and sweet became heavy and claustrophobic. The gap in the window was small, would he be able to fit through it? Would he be able to use some of the equipment to smash it? The chains clinked together as he tugged, the metal starting to cut into the skin on his wrists. He had to get out. He couldn't stand it for much longer. He gingerly tested his legs on the end of the bed, trying to work the stiffness out of his ankles. If he ran, would his legs even have the strength to hold him? How long could he run for before he collapsed? He was sure he didn't have his jetpack with him. He was sure that he didn't have any weapon that would be capable of holding off his captors for long._

His eyes skimmed back over to the cuffs, and he caught sight of a dark wrapping concealing his elbow. He used his free hand to peel it off, and his anxiety spiked higher at the sight of a needle plunged into his flesh, the tip disappearing beneath his pale skin.

 _Did the fire even happen? Did he even find their ship? Or was it the work of a powerful drug cocktail designed to keep him compliant? Was he being poisoned, and were they waiting for him to die?_

He forcefully ripped the tube out with his free hand, watching with morbid curiosity as a trickle of blood oozed out of the small nick in his skin, dropping onto the covers and staining the bright white with small splashes of crimson.

"I wouldn't do that if were you."

The sudden stern warning caused him to startle, whipping around to meet eyes with the man standing at the edge of the bed. How long had he been standing there? Discarding his shock quickly, he came to recognise the choices of attire and obnoxious scars quickly - this was Kur's father, the Saturday Patriarch and the husband of the woman that tried to eviscerate him and then ended up letting him go. He struggled to sit up fully so that he could meet the stony eyes of the larger man standing above him. The man's brow narrowed and his face scrunched up into a distasteful scowl. The younger man responded with his own unwavering glare. He could feel his frantic heartbeat starting to slow down - whatever the Saturdays did with their prisoners, it couldn't possibly be worse than the scenarios Argost had used to _prepare_ him for this possibility. They would be sorely disappointed with the thin sliver of information they would be able to get out of him. They had tried to pull the wool over his eyes once before - he wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

He started speaking shakily, clearing his throat once he realised how hoarse he sounded "If it's a ransom or information that you're looking for, I have to inform you that you're going to be gravely disappointed. Argost has no desire to change his plans as a consequence of me."

He saw a brief flash of confusion bolt across the man's face, "what? Are you ... threatening me?"

He scowled back, voice wobbling ever so slightly, "you heard me." He'd let a child take him by surprise with some clever interrogation tactics, he wasn't about to let this man do the same.

"A 'thank you for saving my life' would be nice." The man crossed his arms across his broad chest. He reached down with one hand into one of the holsters on his waist, producing a metal object that gleamed in the artificial light of the medical room. The younger man's eyes caught the sharp glimmer and he recoiled instantly, rolling over the left side edge of the bed, expecting to hear a loud popping sound and feel the pain of a bullet or blade embedded into his body. Where he'd planned to be able to land on his feet and run, he ended up staggering down onto his knees, wheezing as he tried to drag himself through the sensation of pain flaring through his hips. The cold metal of the cuffs chafed his wrists as he frantically tried to slip his wrists through the gap. Doctor Saturday rushed forward and the light once again clipped off of the object in his hand and into the worried eyes of the captive mercenary. The brief flash retriggered the warring between fight and flight instincts; as the darker skinned man leaned closer towards him, he supplied him with a brutal headbutt. The painful clacking of their skulls did nothing to deter the other man, and it only made his vice-grip headache throb harder. The larger man's hand shot out with surprising speed and pinned his trapped wrist in place. He brought the metal tool closer to the wrist and the young mercenary's rage subsided into anticipation as he came to realise that the man was unlocking his bonds. His eyes darted across the room to hedge his bets on the best escape route. There could have been anyone hiding behind the exits, and they may have been locked. His best chance was the window. He could smash the glass with the cuffs and then hope that the drop wasn't high enough too cripple him. As soon as the promising 'click' sound signified his freedom, he bolted towards the wall of glass. Ignoring the weakness in his legs and tightness in his chest, he spurred himself on to stumble over to the windows. He stopped and so nearly did his heart. The ground wasn't just a far leap, it was somewhere deep below the white clouds coasting the sides of the ship. His heart sank and any sliver of hope he had curled up and perished. They were airborne. He couldn't even see the ground.

His gaze reluctantly shifted to look at the man blocking his only other exit - his expression was emotionless, his eyes were a stony cold that glared at the injured man somewhat triumphantly. He could feel his cheeks flush with defeat as his focus dropped to the floor, where he avoided the man's burning stare by looking fixedly at the small spots of blood from his IV wound that had stained the bright white tiles crimson. He checked his arm, watching the substance pool up at the tiny opening in his skin and trickle down his inner elbow. He looked further along his arm to his wrist and then the back of his palms, where smooth skin turned into coarse, leathery, wide and broad tissue with areas both stark white and angry, inflamed red. The more he looked, the more the edges of the marks buzzed and trembled. The room had closed further in. It was getting more difficult to breathe.

"We're 40,000 feet up," The other man's gruff voice made him startle. "You've got nowhere to go and you need medical attention. Van Rook's apprentice or not, I'm not letting anyone die on my ship." The bigger man's outline seemed to blur and sway softly as he leaned down onto his knees, a nauseous feeling washing over him. The bigger man approached, but once again he sadly lacked the grip on reality to care. The man reached him just as he slipped into the haze - the coolness of the tiles was the last feeling on his skin before he blacked out.

* * *

The stage of feather-light weightlessness had passed. Now, his head felt like a throne of bricks weighing heavy on his neck. The other thing that weighed heavy, was the anxiety - hauled up his chest and gripping like a vice. The eerie silence in the room had a spell over him - he felt forced to stay silent, stay lying there. Now that the sudden rush of adrenaline had passed, pains of exhaustion and hunger had started to creep in - and they had seized most of his thoughts that had previously been running rampant about the prospect of escape. Climbing down from the high of terror, he had started to appreciate the gentle cotton supporting his body. The pillow under his head was such a welcome distraction from the dilapidated future ahead that he felt obliged to hang onto it for just a _little longer._ When he did open his eyes, he was greeted with the familiar, sterile atmosphere of the medical room. The beepings of the machines were familiar now, as were the monitor screens and the faint lines of activity dancing across them. His eyes trailed over to the edge of the bed, where he half-expected to see the man from before staring back at him critically. However, sat on the corner of the bed, silently, with her hands in her lap; was the white-haired woman. Wife to the man whom he had challenged prior, mother to the boy who had insisted that he was her long lost brother. He swallowed the lump of bile threatening to rise up his throat and struggled to sit up.

Her eyes flickered to him for a split-moment before reverting back, and then her whole upper body turned to face him. The previously blank expression on her face contorted into a facade of worry as she reached a hand out towards him and then suddenly hesitated and drew back as though her fingers had pricked frigid ice. He watched her tensely as she scooped a section of her fringe away from her eyes and tucked it behind her ears. Her pale face was reddened, with blue eyes red and puffy from what appeared to be tears. He was thrown back to the jarring images from the days and nights he spent cold and alone on that mountainside, the older girl desperately holding his hands before they were ripped apart and swirled away into the winds. Now that he wasn't in immediate danger, he could take the time to actually look at the woman. She could have been the girl from the mountainside that he had been hanging onto for dear life. Her skin was a pale white, with a thin dusting of freckles over her reddened cheeks and long white hair draped over her shoulders. She looked at him with wide eyes, with an expression that he couldn't quite place.

Her eyes dropped downwards to the sheets, playing with the cloth between her fingers. She sighed and then looked up at him again and he recognised the telltale expression on her face. Pity. She _pitied_ him. He felt ashamed. Nobody pitied Argost. Nobody pitied the people he associated with. Nobody regarded a criminal in their gaze with soft eyes and even softer words - she looked at him in a protective, almost maternal way, like a mother watching a lost child. Where she had been pointing a blade at his throat before, she now sat at the end of his bed silently with her hands in her lap. He wanted to be repelling, he wanted to see fury burning in her eyes, just so he didn't have to see someone look at him with anything other than disappointment. He furrowed his brow in anger, hoping to instil fear into her or force her to hesitate. She wrung her hands out and cleared her throat, slicing through the thick tension. She quietly shuffled closer.

"Okay...clearly, we have a _lot_ we... need to talk about," she sighed. She slowly reached out and placed a hand over his, giving it a squeeze that was probably intentioned to be reassuring. He froze, snatching it back with an offended glare. The woman looked crushed by his surprised scowl and moved her hands back to her lap quickly. She stared deep into his face, puzzled.

"D-Do you...do remember me? At all?" He mused that the dream of the night he spent on the mountain wasn't a dream at all and that this woman was that girl who was desperately trying to save him from falling into the snowy abyss. Even if this was her, how had she found him? After all of the preparations, rigorous training and disassociations that Argost had tested him for - this woman had seen beyond the calloused mask of lies on his face and stripped him of the integrity that was keeping him from questioning what Argost had told him to forget about. How did she know? What was he to her, and how many other people knew him as this identity that had been wiped clean from his mind?

"I've never seen you before in my life." He hated the shrill, vulnerable tone to his voice as he ultimately denied and palmed off her allegations. He swallowed the bile trying to rise in his throat and met her eyes. Cool, calm, collected - there was no need to reveal anything that this woman didn't already know. _He was_ _Steady._ She seemed hurt and taken aback.

"A-are you sure?" She paused, "you're recovering from smoke inhalation, you might be confused, disorientated even.." The young woman was rambling even more nervously than he was.

He chewed his lip, uncomfortable. This woman was like Abbey, spewing venom-laced pity and kindness into his ears to push him to surrender his secrets. He wouldn't let it work. He'd be polite and reserved and it was like Argost said - manners didn't cost anything, but made him seem more credible. The Saturdays especially seemed like the kind of people to appreciate cooperation and given that the parents were on the run with Kur, maybe gaining their trust was the best way to get to their son. The threat from Argost was probably wearing them down, and if they were worn down and desperate enough, they would trust him.

 _If they would trust him, he would have easy access to Kur and an even easier way of giving the boy to Argost. If he could invite Argost in, he could square things off with Argost, and every other mercenary or bounty hunter out for a piece of the 'king of the cryptids'. He knew how to play the fool. They all thought he was the fool. He could pull the wool over the parents' eyes just like how Argost pulled the wool over the eyes of the millions of gullible weird world watchers, convincing them he was an innocent celebrity personality._

"Mrs Saturday-."

"It's Drew."

"Pardon?"

"My name is Drew. Doyle, you know that."

He raised a brow at her, his face still fastened into a perpetual frown. "You're the second person to call me that today."

The expression of shock returned to the woman's face once more. "You really don't remember do you?"

"Remember what?" He shrugged her off.

"Remember your birth name."

He was gripped in momentary panic. His distraction allowed her to come closer and leaning in, he let her cup one side of his bitter face with a gentle, warm hand. Her voice wasn't above a whisper. "We grew up together, Doyle."

"Are we...related?" He hadn't meant to blurt it, but he had an awful feeling swelling in the pit of his stomach. She nodded.

"You're my brother."

* * *

 _ **Update!**_


	14. Meltdown

**holidays from studying and on neither of them gave me motivation and then 2 days ago when I had so much work to do, ideas sprang to me and I spent 3 hours finishing the chapter. Worth it though as I really think this is my best chapter so far! I did a lot of research for the plot of it and I've finally started to love writing Doc's character.**

 **Just a few trigger warnings for this chapter:**  
 **Hints at past injury/abuse but no blood/graphic detail. BIG trigger warning for a full-blown PTSD episode though.**

* * *

Solomon had no doubt that his wife was one of the strongest people he had ever met. He wasn't someone with pride too large to swallow, but he knew he would be lying if he said he didn't at times yearn for the courage that his wife had. Drew was resilient in a way that he never could be, and her devotion to family was one of many things that persuaded him to ask her to marry him. She was smart, determined and more open-minded than he could ever be. It was something that Zak had inherited from her; his ability to lend second chances and be accepting so easily. He cherished his son's passion for cryptozoology - he had long since lost the ability to be even mildly frustrated with Zak when he brought home stray cryptids, begging to adopt them into the family. However, this time, giving second chances was much more complicated than just adopting a cryptid. Giving a second chance would be giving Van Rook's ex-apprentice free reign of his house and family.

He wanted his wife to be happy; she grieved the family she had been ripped away from as a child and now she had the chance to rekindle it with her long lost brother. However, he was worried that Drew's sudden attachment to Van Rook's apprentice would leave her heartbroken. He was anticipating that the mercenary would turn around and sell them straight out to Argost for a profit, family or not. However, there was something about this man that piqued Doc's curiosity. He had dealt with mercenaries before. He had taken down Van Rook's new apprentices again and again. There was something about Drew's brother that set him apart from them. Maybe it was the despondent 'deer in the headlights' expression plastered on his face. Maybe it was his two-faced behaviour: one moment his face mirrored the threatening, ruffian persona of a punk-thug for hire. The next moment, he was recoiling - with a look in his eyes that Doc thought would seem more suitable on the face of a frightened lost child. It was almost disturbing to see that expression plain on the face of a grown man, let alone one that was supposed to be a ruthless assassin. It left him with even more questions than answers when he saw his wife leave the medical bay wiping tears from her cheeks.

When he caught up with Drew, he found her curled up on his side of their bed, cradling a photo album in her arms, eyes red from what appeared to be crying.

"Drew?" he whispered, silently asking her permission to approach. She didn't look at him. She kept her eyes fixated on the page, hand quivering over the photographic film that was withered and slightly crumpled with age. He moved towards her silently and perched on the other corner of the bed. It was at times like this when he felt helpless. As the sturdy stone pillar holding the family together, emotions and feelings weren't exactly his forte. He loved his wife and son unconditionally and that was that. However, when it came to anyone else, he realised that he could be seen as lacking in empathy. He didn't have the same relationship with his parents that Drew did. He had cut ties with his father even before Zak was born, and his mother - when she had died he was nearly too young to remember her. Outside of his studies, he spent more of his time growing up with Dr Lancaster than either of his parents. Even then, it had been two and a half decades since Lancaster died. Drew held her parents incredibly close to her heart and whilst he slowly cut ties with his family, Drew had them ripped away from her in a heartbeat in a terrible accident and even as her husband, he struggled to comprehend what it must have been like.

"Drew," he clasped her small wrist in his hand and she turned to look at him. He felt guilt pierce his heart as he saw the bitter tears and trembling lips. She was slightly listless as she let him pull her into his arms. He positioned her on his hip so that she had her legs resting across him and the rest of her body tucked up against his broad chest. He wrapped his strong arms around her small waist protectively and lowered his head into pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I'm sorry your brother isn't who you thought he was.," she looked up at him, teary-eyed. Drew slowly relaxed into his arms, burrowing further into his chest.

"I thought," she paused, wiping her eyes, "...I don't know what I thought."

"What did he say to you? Drew, if he hurt you, at all-." Doc sighed in concern as his grip on her tightened slightly.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, sniffing. "I thought he would remember me."

He rubbed her shoulder, gently and reassuringly. "I hate to ask this again, Drew - but are you sure he's your brother? Working for Van Rook, helping Argost. Are you sure you want to go there?"

"I

to know, Doc," she almost seethed. "I'll probably never forgive myself for what happened to my family 27 years ago - I couldn't help my brother when he needed me the most. Maybe...maybe now I finally have the chance to make things right again."

"It was an accident, Drew. A horrible accident that you couldn't have predicted. Whatever happened to your brother after you were separated...it was out of your control."

"But that doesn't mean that it's out of my control now," Drew sighed as she wrapped her arms around his waist. "But I can't help him if he pushes me away."

"How old was he?"

"Pardon? Drew's voice was muffled by doc's chest.

"Your brother. How old was he when you got separated?"

"Doyle was four."

"Meaning he's now-."

"31. Almost."

Doc scratched his head. "That's a long time ago to remember. Especially for someone so young."

"I had hoped that he would remember something to help me find even ground with him," she looked up at her husband with a look of anxiety. "But he doesn't even know his own name, Doc."

Doc raised a brow at that, perplexed. "What if he's in denial?"

"Possibly, but there was something about the look of utter confusion on his face that told me otherwise."

"I know what you mean. He doesn't act like any mercenary I've ever seen."

"There must be something I can do-." Drew tried to stand, but Doc gently pushed her back down to sit.

"You need rest, Drew. You haven't slept all night."

"Neither have you, honey, you've been working nonstop on repairs."

Doc hummed in agreement. "Just try and lie down for me. At least for a little while," he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"And What are you going to do?" She asked.

"Check on Zak."

She smiled, "Do you think you can catch him before he gets himself into trouble?"

"I'll try," he smiled, softly closing the door behind him.

* * *

Solomon had found his son asleep - exhausted after last night's escapade. The only reminders of the fire were sealed in the secondary engine bay and on Zak's skin: the occasional bandage protecting the burns on his arms and the scuff marks on his cheeks. He knew that his son could have come off much worse. It was reassuring to see Zak sleeping soundly for what could have been the first time in months - wrapped securely in his blankets and sandwiched between his cryptid brothers protectively. Closing the door to the darkened room gently, he now realised that he had a more difficult resident to check up on.

The medical bay was on the opposite end of the ship nearly, but he made it there in a brisk walk, worried about what he might find inside. He was half expecting to find the man inside gone - his other best estimate was that he'd be waiting behind the door, ready to spring a one-man ambush. Doc scoffed. The man would be sorely disappointed when he'd discover that he was severely outmatched. However, when Doc unlocked the medical bay, the scene that greeted him was even more bizarre. It was like someone had taken the nervous, desperate and almost-wild man and replaced him with the calm, collected and indifferent individual that sat there currently.

He was sat upright in bed, looking straight at Doc with a neutral expression. He had his hands visible, and resting seemingly relaxed in his lap. His eyes were bright and alert, but they lacked the unstable, explosive gaze that had given Doc a number of red flags earlier. Doc tried to look for the erratic glances looking for escape routes, or flashing pupils that screamed anxiety - yet there was nothing. He was solely focused on the other man in the room, observing quietly. Doc supposed it could have been a trick; a facade to cover the trail of his real intentions. If it was, it was a strange way that the man was going about trying at earning his trust. This only made him more suspicious. Everything in the medical bay seemed to be in order. His potential brother-in-law had refrained from ripping out any more of the drips and instruments that were helping his body stabilise.

Doc made his way towards the computer console at one end of the room, attempting to cut through the wall of silence in the room; he never once took his eyes off the interloper, though. The other man's silence made him feel incredibly uneasy - Doc could feel eyes burning through him. He wasn't going to let himself be intimidated by any of Argost's lackeys, family or not.

came first - there was no room for compassion towards someone who wanted to take his son from him. If it hadn't had been for Drew's pleas - he would have left the wounded man behind without a second glance. It was the potential blood relation to Drew that was saving the redhead's skin - not Doc's compassion and good hospitality. Against his better judgement: he tried to be civil.

"Feeling better?" He offered. The other man blinked, snapping out of his distant trance but not giving Doc the satisfaction of eye-contact.

"I'm fine," the other man said dismissively, in a monotone voice. Doc frowned, resisting the urge to retort.

"You charged headfirst into a class D fire. It takes a tremendous amount of luck to feel 'fine' only twenty-four hours later."

The man seemed to wear a perpetual frown that affected most of his face, which Doc didn't like. He also didn't seem to be a man of many words, which was

Most of the mercenaries and villains Doc had met loved to run their mouths. Van Rook. Argost. Supervillains and pride went almost hand in hand. Yet, he was here having a despondent conversation with a cutthroat assassin that had managed to sneak into his airship undetected. Twice. Fate was a strange thing, as Drew would tell him.

Doc thought about what the man had said earlier.

'. He wouldn't have expected Abbey or Van Rook to be so thoroughly loyal to Argost. Could he be answering directly to Argost rather than Van Rook? He needed to ask some more questions.

That being said," Doc said in the same, monotonous tone, "I believe you need to answer me a few questions."

The man looked up at him and for a second, Doc thought he saw a spark of worry flash in the man's eyes. "Questions?"

Doc's eyes narrowed, expression set in fortitude. "Questions." He repeated. "This is my ship, and you are a threat to my family. My family isn't out to hurt anyone, so personally, I would like to know what sent you here."

The redhead snorted in inattention, "You're unaware of Argost's conquest for world domination?"

"Oh I'm

aware," Doc leaned in closer. "But you came here

. I don't know if you've ever noticed, but Argost never sends his accomplices after us alone. Yet, you came after

by yourself. Any reason why?"

He glanced at the African American man. "I had a job to complete."

"A job that you were willing to sacrifice your life for? Whatever Argost is paying you is worth that?"

Doc watched as the other man glowered at him. The sudden disinterest in the man's face turned to disgust as he rounded in on him. "It is not something you would understand," he muttered.

"I wouldn't understand? I wouldn't understand that money drives people to make senseless decisions?"

Doc watched as the other man untwined his fingers from their locked position, as though he suddenly became tense at the question. It was a force of habit, watching someone's hands. He meant to be checking for weapons, danger or waiting for the other man to make an unpredictable move. Yet, that wasn't what Doc noticed. He noticed the man's fingertips. The skin at the end of the man's fingers was discoloured and chapped. Doc chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking. Were those burn scars? A tide of thoughts surged through the scientist's head as though the mysteries around Doyle's presence had opened a floodgate in his mind.

"How did you get those?" Doc questioned, gesturing to the man's hands. The smaller man pulled his hands away from his lap, almost self-consciously.

"I don't believe that it is any concern of yours." Doc couldn't help but notice not only the coldness to the man's voice, but also the sharp-tongued, refined way in which he spoke.

"Your welfare

my concern."

Doyle raised a brow, puzzled. "My welfare? As a parent, you should be more concerned about your wife and son, whom, may I add, is currently wanted by a global database of criminals." Doc frowned, burning holes into the other man with his eyes, but Doyle was disinterested in holding Doc's bitter gaze. Instead, he glanced out of the window, watching the dusk as it crept into view. Doc noticed the wizened glimmer in the man's gaze and the way that the last rays of the sun struggled to brighten Doyle's tired, withered eyes. As the dying light of the day beamed across the pale man's face, Doc was chilled by how far beyond his years it made Doyle appear. The light hurled shadows across all of the small nicks and indents on the man's face that would have otherwise been hidden, and the bright beams made the man's prominent bones look all the more angular and gaunt.

"Though," the other man said, snapping Doc out of his unnerved stupor quickly. "There is a high probability that your wife's empathy is the only thing keeping me here alive. We both know that."

Doc scowled. "Do you think that I would stoop as low as to kill?"

"To protect your family? Yes." It chilled Doc just how casually Doyle made the remark, as though this was a subject that he would discuss regularly in day to day life. As though it was something nonchalant enough to talk about over breakfast.

"Do you plan on exploiting my wife's sympathy? Do you have any idea how much she risked to save you?"

"Neither of you had to come for me in the first place," the younger man reminded harshly.

The scowl on Doc's face intensified as he descended towards the end of his patience. "Have you ever heard of something called 'gratitude'?"

"Neither of us would be in this situation if your wife wasn't convinced that I'm her long lost family member."

The twine of patience Doc had left finally snapped as he brought his fist down upon one of the tables with a loud bang. The younger man who had seemed so calm and reserved suddenly recoiled with a start and Doc could have sworn that he'd heard the man wince. Just as quickly, Doyle recovered his composure and Doc was left questioning if it had happened at all.

"I don't blame her, and neither should you," Doc snapped. He turned his back to Doyle and continued. "Drew was nine when she lost her parents and her younger brother in a horrible accident. They were touring the Himalayas and in the foothills of Everest when they were attacked by a monster. Drew was forced to watch as her brother was carried away down the mountain by a blizzard. She was taken in by monks but she searched for her brother for years but never found him. Now, she thinks that she's finally found him - and you're treating her as though she's-."

Doc's tirade was stopped in its tracks when he saw Doyle's face.

"A-are you alright?"

He struggled to comprehend what he was seeing, let alone collect enough words on his tongue to say something. Doyle was a cutthroat assassin, a man who was supposed to be able to hold himself together in any situation - and Doc was watching that cold, harsh facade as it crashed down like a glacier tumbling into the ocean. The impact created towering, foreboding waves that Doc felt crashing against him despite the distance. The waves of terror emanating from the younger man were eerily silent in a way that the ocean never was. His bottom lip was violently trembling and his eyes were red-rimmed but he didn't make a sound. No gut-wrenching wails, cries of despair or hitched, desperate sobs could be heard and Doc felt the air in the room turn stale and unbearable to breathe. Doyle looked like he couldn't breathe. His teeth were digging into his bottom lip hard enough that it was tinged blue. His skin had lost its colour and almost looked

Beads of perspiration trickled down his forehead, down his arms, plastering his auburn hair to his face. His hands clenched and unclenched the sheets like he was trying to focus on something other than the torrent of panic assaulting his mind. His trembling blue eyes were fixated on the ceiling tiles, not looking at anything else. His arms were clamped incredibly close to his sides and Doc was overwhelmed by how pitiful it was to see a grown man trying to contort himself into the smallest, most unnatural position he could. He was shaking violently and the spasms of movement were enough to rattle the frame of the bed.

There weren't many times in Doc's life where he was at a loss of what to do but this was one of them. He couldn't have anticipated that his comments could have caused the tributaries in the man's unstable mind to amass into such a strong current of dismay. He tried to quickly find the logical thing to do - asking if the man was okay, slapping a bandage over it and calling it a day wouldn't cut it. He theorised the next most logical thing to do, kneeling by the side of the bed.

"Look at me."

The man didn't even react. He just kept staring at the same spot on the ceiling.

"I said, look at me."

He kept staring, unblinking, almost like he couldn't

anything around him. Like he couldn't

Doc.

Doc had to force the words out. "Please. I need you to look at me." He reached over and grasped Doyle's hand firmly. Doyle finally snapped out of his reverie and his eyes locked onto Doc. Doc was hit by that look of gyrating anxiety and wanted to let go - but he held firm. At first, Doyle tried to tug his hand away violently. As and as weak as he was, Doc could feel force and reason behind the other man's tugging. The shaking travelled into Doc's body like he was a conductor for the other man's terror. "Good," Doc barely managed to choke out. He could feel the sea of anguish wearing away at the cliffs of his exterior, trying to find weaknesses to erode away at. He could feel himself starting to come apart witnessing this. How was the other man managing to hold himself together?

He cleared his throat. "Now," he managed, "I need you to repeat after me." He could see the ignition in those eyes starting to wander across the room. "No, I need you to repeat what I'm saying. Keep looking at me."

Now, this was something Drew had taught him. Something simple enough for him to see the scientific logic behind. It had helped him cope with the night terrors that had followed his time at Weird World.

"Eleven. Twenty-One. Seventy-Seven. Eighty-Three. Ninety. Fourteen." Doc repeated the list slowly, several times, making sure that Doyle could hear him on each turn.

It took a couple of tries before a very wobbly but audible "Eleven" could be heard and Doc breathed a gentle sigh of relief. It took them a bit more coaxing to get to 'Twenty-One' and then 'Seventy-Seven', but at that moment - Doc didn't feel frustrated by the slow pace of the process. They repeated the set four times - Doyle following his sluggish voice slowly but surely - before Doc felt the violent shaking on his arm subside into soft trembling, and he finally heard laboured but stabilising breathing. A few seconds passed and Doyle seemed completely aware of his surroundings. He pulled his wrist out of Doc's grasp rather abruptly and moved away from him, shuffling to the other side of the medical bed. Doc let go of the breath he'd been holding. The strategy with the numbers was all he could have done. His capacity for comforting anguished strangers ended there. He'd never be capable of the 'soothing' embrace that came with the traditional ideas of reassurance. The air felt less suffocating but still stale. He almost reached over and clasped the other man by the shoulder, but the memories of their negative encounters over the last few days slowly came flowing back to him - and Doc couldn't bring himself to do it. Neither could the man because as soon as Doc moved, he held his hand up shakily, palm gestured towards Doc, who knew there was nothing else he could do here now.

"Do you want me to go?" He asked firmly, already anticipating the answer.

"I-" the other man's voice pitched and plunged a little until it found even ground. "Yes."

Without another word Doc stood up and began slowly, haphazardly pacing towards the exit, still blindsided by what he had just witnessed. He looked back once. Doyle was watching him leave with jaded eyes that he could barely keep open. The reappearance of tranquillity in the household had released some of the tension from the atmosphere, and Doc managed a slight smile. He paused and looked at the weary man who was barely holding himself up on his elbows.

"The psychology of the mind is complex, but the mind can only multitask to a certain extent. The human brain can't process things in an abnormal sequence and panic at the same time," Doc explained, the sound of his voice dulling as he slowly closed the door behind him.

As soon as he was out of sight, he slumped against the nearest surface, wiping his brow and trying to process what he had seen. He had entered the room facing off against a renegade cutthroat criminal and he had left behind a recovering wreck of a man that could barely string coherent sentences together. He had already made up his mind that he wasn't going to tell Drew, and he was quite sure that Doyle wouldn't be going anywhere during the night after that. Besides, telling Drew could result in a relapse of whatever he had just witnessed and Doc was sure that he didn't want to wish that on anyone - family or stranger - ever again. Emotionally and physically exhausted, he retired to bed beside his wife. He was clasping her slightly tighter than usual in his strong arms and pressing his face into her shoulder. Her soothing presence wouldn't block out what he had witnessed - yet he knew he had to try.


End file.
